


1935

by SippingPlotting



Series: Sequels [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 47,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11350056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SippingPlotting/pseuds/SippingPlotting
Summary: My crystal ball doesn't work, but I thought I'd meander in this year for a bit.That way I can look back while moving forward.So I suppose it's related to "Unhappy," if you've read that.  But this time I'm setting a ONE year limit.Who knows?   I still feel like a beginner.  LOL





	1. Chapter 1

(Same challenge to myself as before--I'm sitting down an hour a day and staring at the keyboard. Since it's a year I'm not as familiar with, that might mean uneven posting; the hour might be to look something up. No eclipses, though. God help me, no eclipses.)  
(WELCOME along to anyone who wants to meander with me. Remember I'm not a polished writer, but I did enjoy the positive messages last time.)  
-

-  
-  
-  
Lady Mary Crawley stood at the train station feeling as though her heart was being pulled from her chest.  
Now in her mid forties and three times a mother, Mary still had the presence and style that made people look, that made the nearby villagers take notice and nod deferentially. 

But Lady Mary didn't see their looks or silent greetings.  
She was focused on the boy beside her--George, her little Georgie now all of 13 and dressed in his top hat and greatcoat, ready for Eton.  
Their breaths made a slight fog between them as they tried to make some sort of conversation to pass time. 

 

If Tom and Henry weren't there, she would have been wrecked, absolutely wrecked.  
But as it was, the men's jovial tones allowed her to hide her feelings behind the appropriately supportive expression.  
(Put a good face on it, Mary reminded herself.)

He was old enough, she knew. He might well have boarded out years ago.  
But when last June he'd taken top marks on the common entrance exam, she'd actually been disappointed, rather than elated.  
And now here he was off for Lent half, bags and baggage. 

 

"Let me give you some more for the tuck shop," Henry said, trying to put a few bills in Georgie's pocket.  
"You gave me far more than I should have, already," grinned George back, though without very much heat. At this rate, he'd be able to treat all his friends and then some. 

"Mind you don't get in trouble. Sybbie won't let you forget if you do," added Branson.  
Though he was thinking a mixture of "the dress code makes fools of these boys" and  
"when did this child grow so tall." (For George Crawley, even at 13, was eye to eye with his uncle. )

 

"Trouble," George scoffed. "As though I haven't grown out of such things. Sybbie won't ever let me forget how I cut her hair....and that was eons ago. I'd never dare do anything now or I'd be grey before she forgot it."

Mary looked at her baby, oldest son and only heir of their family. And she told herself (again) that he must go, must gain the polish of a good public school--as her father had, as her husband had. Eton would mark him out for the rest of his life by his attitudes and his turn of phrase.  
It was right to send him, but it didn't make it feel any less wrong. 

 

"Now, Georgie, she's got the right of it. Do behave yourself," Mary drawled, her voice coming strong in spite of herself.  
"You know Donk expects you to be first eleven at cricket right off the train, if you have to wade through snow to practice."

The reminder of her father's obsession with cricket did the trick.  
All three of the men (her baby! a man!) turned to light topics of sport, and some game in season now.  
And when the train came, they managed to see the boy into first class without any shameful displays.

 

"You write," she reminded.  
"I promise," he said.  
And her lovely child waved and was gone. 

Then Henry on one side and Tom on the other walked Mary out to the automobile to go home. 

\---

Most other weeks, Henry would have been taking the train south himself, south to do business for the family's car shop or to boost their investment in Morris Motors.  
Henry had made good on their investments, involving himself in that other company--finding suppliers, making deals.  
For 1935, his skill was admirable. Morris had fallen in the share of cars they produced nationwide, but they still did well. Which was better than most businesses, especially anything in the north. 

 

Tom did well, too, though on a different scale.  
"He's finally put his politics to work," Mary thought fondly, as she watched Tom weave through the crowd to the car park.  
Even driving, he'd wave to passersby. For Branson now knew every soul in the village. And they all respected him and sought out his advice on management.  
"You'll win for sure next election," she said dryly. "The way you smile. I'm surprised you didn't stop to kiss someone's infant. There was a nice dirty one right by the door."

 

Branson laughed. Sister Mary didn't bother him with her sarcasm.  
They were close friends, the two, and he knew she was trying to hide her sadness with a smirk.

\---

As they rolled to a stop in front of the Abbey, Mr. Barrow came to open the doors.

The butler had to be quite downcast himself at Georgie's leaving, Mary thought, though she noted that he, too, was putting on a good face.  
"Well, he's off then," she said to the man as she stepped down from the car. "And we're left." She smiled at the servant.  
"When I get inside and settled, I'll need strong tea, double quick."

 

"Yes, my lady," Barrow said solemnly, expression neutral. Himself, he felt like spirits were in order.  
Losing Master George was like losing his own shadow--as though he'd look down and see it not there.  
For in spite of the boy now being a young adult, he'd still been in and out of "his" Barrow's office at least once a day, sometimes more.

 

"I'll go up and pry Sybbie out," Tom commented, coming round and leading them in. "She's bound to be weeping into a pillow somewhere." He chuckled, though not unsympathetically.  
"Young women seem more able to vent their emotions than the rest of us, and Sybbie seems to be taking on like some character in a novel this entire week."  
Tom sighed. "I love the girl dearly, but I'm not sure what to make of her some days."

Mary smiled. "She's just like her mother. Like all three of us, really. All roiling emotion and passions at that age. Sybbie's just lucky not to have a sister who despises her, plotting against her as she tries to figure herself out."  
And Lady Mary went upstairs quickly, to take off her hat before joining the others.  
She needed those moments to collect herself.  
It still stunned her, how fast the years had gone.

\---  
\---  
The last few years had been difficult already for Lady Mary in particular, and the Crawley family in general.  
Her mother Cora was still going strong, that much was good news.  
And they'd not had a crash like some other great houses, since they'd been on such sound footing when the "great slump" slumped even lower into "depression."  
But there had been cutbacks, even if outsiders couldn't see them. And to a great family, any need to concern themselves with finances cast a grey shadow.

 

Plus Lord Grantham was having some troubles with health. He'd never been entirely well, really, not for ages, and they'd taken on tasks to shelter him as best as they could.  
Of course the earl was still the same cheerful spirit, going on with an ingrained optimism about King and country, but he was a bit more frail, a bit more forgetful.  
Sometimes, they'd think he'd made an error, however, and find it was someone else. And he'd give them the devil for it, saying he was fine and fit. And it would lift everyone's spirits, especially Cora's, though she knew they were both getting old.

 

Carson, too. There was something that made Mary want to cry even more than Georgie.  
Her son might be leaving, but she knew it was for better things.  
Carson, though, seemed to leave a bit at a time. Unravelling physically in front of her very eyes.  
The slight tremor in his hand was a constant rolling twitch now, and he had more trouble walking.  
A decade ago he'd been the foundation of Lady Mary's strength. Now she was the foundation of his.

 

And Henry....Lady Mary didn't even want to let thoughts of her husband bring her lower on this already low day.  
Coming down the stairs quickly, shaking blue thoughts away, she entered the sitting room where they were gathering.  
Barrow and Andrew had brought in a full tea, she saw, amused.  
Perhaps the food would help, like in mourning.

 

"Thank you, Barrow. Oh, I see you've even those truffles Sybbie's so fond of."  
Mary turned to her neice. "Come, Sybbie, let's drown our sorrows in tea and chocolate, and tell funny stories of all the horrible things Georgie's managed to do over the years."  
(If it works for a funeral, it should work for a parting, she thought.)

"We'll be here a while then," Tom said, backing Mary's play. "He's a right scamp that son of yours. And he'll be down and back before we know it. The term isn't so long."  
"'Half'" Mary corrected automatically. "And he'd better not come back before it's over. Donk won't like it if he's sent down."  
"He might though," Sybbie said with the faintest smile in her wan face. "If he pulls a prank on them like he's done on us, he might be back before the week's out."  
And the group chuckled as best they could and settled in to yet another change.

  
  
  
http://www.britishpathe.com/video/scenes-of-windsor-and-eton/query/ETON%3B


	2. Chapter 2

-  
-  
\---  
There was a timeless quality to the butler's office, in spite of a chorus of ticking clocks.  
A closeness, a feeling of too many things stuffed into too little space.  
They'd even moved the shelves back, replacing what had been George Crawley's childhood hiding spot with a visitor's chair fit for adults.

But there was still a feeling of being cramped, almost buried in minutae--invoices, letters, ledgers, payments.  
Barrow's desk held a veritable clutter of paper trying to defy his best efforts to keep things neat. 

 

But it was Thomas Barrow's clutter now. Every pen, every paper, every book.  
Every morning the cook Daisy Parker greeted him with tea and ginger biscuits, to take with him to his office desk, settling him to work. (A lovely girl, Daisy.)

The desk itself was a behemoth: the same ancient seat used by butlers for a century or more at Downton.  
Like the ring of keys tossed carelessly on it's top, Thomas felt the desk was an emblem of his rise in the world and a reward for services rendered. 

 

"You'd best get back to work and so should I," he said to his nephew Daniel, slouching in a most unseemly fashion on the chair. "I'm glad you're getting on, and I appreciate you saving old Mason the trip, but time's a wasting."  
The younger man gave a mock tug of his forelock. "Yes, Mr. Barrow," he smirked.  
The butler smiled back.

 

Daniel had come when Thomas's sister changed residences--she'd found a man to take her at middle age, her aged mother even.  
But he could not be pushed to take in a son, especially a son turning twenty.  
The young man, now twenty two, had ended up a farm hand at Yew Tree--a result of his uncle's friendship with the Parkers.

"But you're holding up, then?" Danny asked as he unfolded himself and stood.  
"Yes, of course," Thomas replied drily. (He hated to be thought weak.)  
"Everyone can stop hovering. Except maybe Daisy. When she hovers, she brings something especially good to eat." 

 

Danny was in the middle of laughing when a knock at the door interrupted them.  
"Aunt Mary sent me down and..." started Miss Sybbie, before halting. "Oh, Barrow, I'm sorry. I didn't see you had company."

The young girl dimpled, a picture of graceful beauty and good breeding.  
"Hello, Daniel," she smiled up at the young man.  
"Miss Sybbie," he smiled back. "I was just leaving. You weren't interrupting at all."  
And with a backward wave to his uncle, Danny left, circling and nodding to the girl.  
The fourteen year old sighed slightly as she reluctantly turned away. 

 

"Miss Sybbie?" Barrow prompted.  
"Oh," she said with a start. "Aunt Mary. She found two bundles on George's bedroom desk when she went in there. One for her, the other for you. It looks just like old books and a note, but she was excited to see hers, and she had me bring yours down."

If Sybbie was embarrassed that she'd looked into the bundle during delivery, she didn't reveal it.  
Then again, she'd known Barrow since she was born, played with him as a toddler, and taken her problems to him as she'd grown.

 

"Thank you, Miss Sybbie," the butler answered, reaching out for the prize.  
"And how are you doing this brisk day?"

"Oh, I'm fine. It's awfully boring without Georgie, of course," Sybbie said with the hint of a pout. "But it's really fine in the end. I just need to apply myself to a new task."  
(Thomas felt his lips twitch up a bit at the last part--what assuredly was Branson's suggestions coming out of the young woman's mouth.)  
"Find a new friend, perhaps," Sybbie blushed. 

 

"Mrs. Moseley would know some suitable young women in the village if your father let's you go down. They aren't ladies, of course. For that you should ask your aunt."  
Sybbie rolled her eyes.

"I don't need a lady. I just need someone who's not nine," she said, referring to her cousin Violet and her friend Johnny Bates.  
(Barrow huffed softly in amusement.)  
"I'm too old to play with them and too young to do anything REAL."  
(Just like her mother, he thought.)

Mr. Barrow closed the ledger on his desk and placed the precious bundle on it.  
Pleasures delayed.  
"Well then, let's walk you upstairs and get Mrs. Moseley's help."

 

And though she didn't really think the idea had much chance of success, Sybbie still turned to walk with him.  
For the young woman loved Mr. Barrow like a second father.  
And even if he no longer could answer all her problems, (even if she suspected Georgie was his 'favorite'), Sybbie still appreciated very much that he'd try.

\---

Upstairs, Lady Mary was still in Georgie's bedroom, hiding and weeping a bit though she would adamantly deny such to anyone.  
Yesterday had been harder than merely sending her boy to school, though that was bad enough.  
But it also had caused her restless dreams of Matthew last night, sending him away to war on the train, thinking he might never come back. 

Then, as now, any misgivings had gone unspoken. But the image of Matthew had superimposed itself onto her young son's face.  
For even this young, Georgie looked like his father.  
That Rupert Brooke profile so stamped on their family line. The same coloring. The same eyes. 

 

So the dreams had, of course, become George Crawley going off to war, perhaps to die.  
And she'd had to remind herself repeatedly that it was only school, the very same very safe public school her father told (too many) stories about over sherry.  
But still Lady Mary was unrested this morning and weakened enough to cry....alone in Georgie's room.

\---

On the main floor, Lord Grantham was in the smoking room, reading, as he had taken to doing every midmorning now.  
He had no worries, just was proud of his grandson, and was simply following routine.  
The old earl had less correspondence than years past, and while he still felt the need to keep up with the world, he now did it from a more comfortable chair in a more comfortable room than his office.

 

Those Germans were bothering him. The headlines were full of the diplomats trying to reach some sort of agreement. And at the regimental dinner last week, there'd been some dastardly rumors.  
Robert was really quite alarmed that Rose was over there in that mix, though he trusted she and Atticus would be as careful as could be. 

 

By his feet a Labrador wagged its tail, and bumped his leg for a pat.  
'Horus,' this one, four years old and very active.  
Of course, Mary's youngest had been a baby when the dog came along. So for much of the younger set, Horus was 'horse." 

The Labrador and baby Edward had seen their puppy stage together, rolling about.  
But 'Horse' left the piggybacks to Andrew and Barrow.  
The dog had his own sense of place.

 

Lord Grantham smiled slightly as Andrew came to the door, as though by some silent calling.  
"Do you want me to take him for his walk now, my lord? Or are you two involved in something more pressing?"  
The dog, well behaved, looked up at Robert. But clearly his swishing tail and pleading eyes voted in favor of the word "walk."  
"Thank you, Andrew. Give Horus a good run. My strolls don't quite do him justice these cold days." Robert nodded and reached for another paper. He'd catch up on headlines by the fire, then maybe get some writing done.

\---

Unnoticed and unremarked by anyone, Henry Talbot took himself out to his own car, and once again went to catch the train south.  
Business waits for no man, he thought with a sniff, as he looked up at the walls of Downton. 

Henry really wasn't sure why he'd thought to stay the extra two days, some feeling of responsibility to George, perhaps, though the child had never been close.  
But he'd tried. He always was "trying" though never given much credit for it.

And now he was off to make sure that HIS children would have something of substance when they grew up, something beyond what was given by the Crawleys.  
Putting on his hat, he was off.


	3. Chapter 3

-  
-  
-  
February replaced January with a blistering of snow.  
Andy Parker woke to the snug sound of Daisy breathing softly in his ear, quietly asleep.  
She was tiny and warm, his wife--like a soft blanket wrapped around him most mornings, rather than he around her as they'd started.

The tall man felt his bones melt with it, the fierce protectiveness she felt toward him and their children.  
Even sleeping she'd wrap him in it.

 

But Andy was protective, too.  
He softly crept out from under the covers without waking her...would stir up the fire and have the kettle on if he could.  
It would save her the effort and make things a little less hectic.  
A real effort this small favor, for Andy Parker hated the mornings. 

 

Hated leaving a warm bed to feel his feet sear on the icy floor.  
Hated having to try to keep his eyes open in the darkness of a winter dawn...when anyone knew a body was meant to stay asleep.  
But he pushed back a lank of curly hair from his forehead, and sighed.  
At least it would be warm for his Daisy. That alone was enough to make the man rise.

\---  
\---

Meanwhile, at the Bates house, things were not as quiet.

One woman in a house with three bears, was how Anna Bates felt each morning.  
Her lips quirked up into a smile as she heard alarming growling sounds coming from the back room.  
Her husband John was literally wrestling their boys out of bed as she packed up their necessities for the day.  
(Making a thorough job of it, if the commotion was any indication.)

 

The Bates boys still went to the Abbey, though at nine and six Johnny and Clarence were quite old enough to go to the village school.  
But school let out long before their parents left work, and, even more, the tutor the Crawleys kept for Sybbie and Violet was better than the village could ever afford.  
Besides the promise of advanced subjects in the future, their boys had the posh lilt to their accents that usually spoke of breeding.  
It would help them find jobs, Anna hoped. 

 

The two demons (cherubs) raced in and hugged her between them, Mr. Bates following with a roll of his eyes (and a rub of his neck.)  
"Our lads are quite excited today," he remarked, dropping a kiss on her forehead.  
They were openly affectionate this family. Touching and treasuring each day.  
"Poor Mr. Tuttle," Anna joked.

"We'll give them a good run outside before he gets them," Bates chuckled. "Maybe two times around the Abbey in fact."  
He couldn't run with them, of course, found himself even breathless from wrestling sometimes, but he'd encourage his sons since they could. 

 

"Really, Clarence," Anna laughed looking down at the boy.  
His face was still smudged with something dark. "Did you even try to wash up? You look like a chimney sweep."  
"'S'cold," the boy grinned back, trying to hide himself in another hug.  
"Cold or not, you'll be decent before we go. Now, march."  
And her finger pointed him toward the bedrooms.

 

It WAS a bit chill in the house, Anna knew.  
There was no real reason to heat the place fully before leaving.  
The kitchen held a small fire, but the bedrooms still could see frost on the panes.  
The Bates had good jobs and safety, but they didn't live plentifully.

The roof on their cottage had seen to that, and the renters had not been willing to wait for better timing.  
"A patch on a patch," Bates had grumbled. "We need to give over and do it, though. There's no one to buy a house these days, even if we were selling."  
They were lucky to have renters, in fact.

 

So the Bates family thanked their luck for having salaries to pay off doctors and roofs (even bit by bit).  
They thanked their luck for good food during the day, and a better education for their sons.  
And they prayed for even better days to come.

\---

Mr. Mason and Daniel Barrow made their way to the barn about the time the Parkers drove off.  
Daisy waved and Andy gave one short bleat of the horn to mark their departure.  
They weren't late, but they weren't as early as usual. 

Mrs. Patmore would finish with the children, they knew, the old woman still going strong.  
She'd live to be a hundred, Andy thought. Full of vinegar that one...but sweetness, too, underneath it all.

 

Daisy was already nattering on about something--Andy strove to keep up, both because she was quicker and because his brain still wished to be asleep.  
"Jimmy said it would be in color this time, can you fathom it? Not even a colorized moving picture, but drawn in by hand each frame. Such a wonderful thing," his wife finished.

Jimmy. The name was what drew Andy's focus.  
Daisy was finally firm friends with Jimmy Kent, having resisted it for years. 

 

It was as though she (and Andy) were waiting for him to swoop in and disturb their friend Mr. Barrow's world.  
He was a very careless, selfish man at times, was Jimmy, and they worried if he'd bring trouble with him.  
However, to Thomas, Jimmy was--as always and forever--his best mate.

And nothing had happened there, the years wearing on.  
Until in the end, Daisy's kind heart took over, and Jimmy had a place in it, and she knew his business along with all the rest.  
"That mouse, you say?" Andy replied when he realized the silence had grown expectant. 

 

"Mickey, you daft kipper," Daisy replied, and was off again with descriptions on end.  
"It will take time to reach York, Jimmy said. He got it from their coming attractions," she concluded. "But the twins will love it, to be sure. And I will, too." (This last she admitted with a laugh and a lowered voice.)

"But if it's with that Becky Sharp flick, we can only go, us."  
Andy nodded...quite rique that story though he'd heard it told as a moral lesson all his life.  
"Jimmy says he can get us in....."

Her voice a pleasant background music, Andy drove on, yawning and smiling by turn.

\---

Davey and Dolly Parker were off to school, books slung over their shoulders on straps.  
It was cold and the frost pinked their cheeks in spite of being wrapped in wool everywhere their mum and 'granny' could manage it.  
(Mrs. Patmore, since her retirement, had taken up knitting. And such ferociously long scarves she knitted the children, they were lucky to unwind them at all.)

"Mr. Moseley will skin you for not finishing your sums," Dolly called to her brother. 

"Mr. Moseley never skinned anyone, DOROTHEA," the boy yelled back, tweaking her braid where it hung from her cap.  
The hated name did it. No one called her Dorothea unless the wanted a lick, and she took up the chase.  
Davey ran ahead faster, laughing. "Dodo Dorothea," he taunted her, though he'd fight anyone else who'd dare.  
His sister ran after him, yelling fiercely (though laughing through the screams, which quite ruined their effect.)

 

"You're the dodo for not being ready," she gasped, when she'd finally caught up to rub snow in his face.  
"You're a bad one, Davey Parker," she laughed, arms around her twin.  
"Aren't I though?" Davey responded and grinned.

\---

At the big house, the teacher's wife was already rushing about.  
Mrs. Moseley had taken the housekeeping duties on top of still caring for Lady Grantham. 

She and Mr. Barrow had both put up Anna for the better candidate, but Lady Grantham was adamant.  
Phyllis Moseley lived closer in, at the gatehouse. And she had not young children to distract her. Besides it was still Cora's house, not Mary's, and she, therefore, could choose her own favorites. 

 

So Phyllis came in a bit earlier and worked a bit harder, keeping up inventories and supervising the (few) village women who came to clean.  
She knew, really, that Thomas and Daisy ran the house. Laughed at them, really.  
Went along with them, naturally.  
But the keys were hers, and the title, and the salary.  
That was quite enough for Phyllis Moseley. Far more than she'd ever dreamed.

 

"Are you two set for the day, then?" she asked, entering the kitchen as Mr. Barrow started to leave with his tea.  
"Remember I've a half day, today," he replied, taking the papers she handed him.  
"Andy will serve dinner without me, but it's just his lordship and Lady Grantham. The others have their own plans."

And the three nodded amiably to each other.  
Getting her own cuppa, Phyllis went into her sitting room.  
She had a bit of sewing to catch up on, now that paperwork was done.  
Heavens, it was already almost eight.


	4. Chapter 4

-  
-  
-  
By the time luncheon came around, Barrow had all his ledgers squared and put away, inventories checked and filed.  
Just because he had a half day didn't mean the work stopped.  
It just meant it would pile up waiting for him, unless he stayed on top.

 

When Carson was more up and about, this wasn't the case.  
But now, though Barrow had trained Andy as well as he could, there was only so much to expect.  
Andy could run the show day-to-day, was now better than the butler himself at fixing things, but knowing the intricacies of ledgers and inventories took years and an interest he lacked.  
And it was just they two.

 

Indeed, Thomas wouldn't even take a half day, except these afternoons were his time to spend with the gamekeeper, Joe Miller. And, while extremely discreet, the two had been together long enough to consider themselves a 'couple.'  
Thomas wouldn't miss time to see him without a true emergency being the cause.  
"Seven years next week," he thought in amazement as he walked down the familiar path. "How'd we get to be such soppy old men?"

 

But he wasn't an old man in Joe's mind, Thomas knew.  
It made him blush sometimes just being near him, having him stare so knowingly through narrowed green eyes.  
The gamekeeper had a way of raising an eyebrow, smiling with full lips, a tilt of his head.

Maybe it was the effort it took to be alone with each other. Maybe it was Joe's nature, calm and giving.  
Both proud men, hardened and rather cynical about the world, you'd never expect it: But they rarely argued and always loved. 

So without hesitation for leaving his 'duty,' Barrow walked a little quicker, thinking of his Joe waiting at the end of the path.

\---

Tom Branson had his own secrets these days.  
After years of not going courting, the businessman had finally asked a woman out.  
It was almost Valentines, after all.  
And Almeda Martin was such a pretty little lady with dancing eyes (whose roadster kept having problems for some reason.)

Tom grinned at his own daring secret....  
Well, a secret from everyone but Mary.

 

"If you're going to ask someone to dinner, I've a nice distillery heiress who's looking," Lady Mary said, a little vexed to be figuring out his news after the fact.  
"It's not like I'm looking to marry," Tom protested, embarrassed to be caught out.  
"I'd marry her myself if I could," she'd replied. "Think of what that dowry could mean."

 

He'd laughed.  
She was serious.  
"Now, Tom, really. I was nearly married off to every eligible for years. You know our family must be sensible in marriages. When we aren't....it isn't much use."  
She said the last sadly.

"Well if you could be her husband, I'm sure she'd be much improved by it, but I'm not prize enough for any type of heiress, distillery or otherwise," he'd managed, red faced.  
Branson would do anything to make Mary's life better.  
He loved her truly, was her best friend and emotional support.

 

But even for Mary, Tom didn't want to talk about his dinner plans.  
It stirred up too many doubts, too many memories of his first wife, too many reasons for backing out.  
And he didn't want to back out. Not this time.

\---

After Branson left the estate office, Lady Mary found herself staring blankly out the window.  
In February there was still work to do, but not as much as in the height of summer.  
She had time to think.  
Perhaps too much. 

And her mind touched a raw, sore spot.  
Not her son's leaving. That she had managed to wall off with common sense and fortitude after a month.  
But the ongoing problem of her husband, the problem that would not be banished no matter how hard Mary tried.

 

She was almost certain Henry was unfaithful.  
'Almost certain" because Lady Mary absolutely wasn't going to go that last step into certainty.  
She'd touch the thought in her mind, then run skittering away.  
She'd review what could be considered 'evidence' then dismiss it.  
But she felt it in her bones to be true.

 

Absurd really, Mary thought. She'd tried to so hard please him--at first because she'd loved him, loved him with the sort of passion that made her ashamed to think of it.  
And she'd thought him the perfect match for her physically and mentally.  
But then that first heat wore off, and they'd somehow ended up being at odds with one another more and more.  
She'd been so proud of him for thinking up this business of his....until his hours and distraction made her feel small. 

It was not for Lady Mary Crawley (Talbot?) to feel small.

He'd begged her one night, "trust me, Mary. I'll do my best to give you whatever it is you need. I'll be your support, and help you fight your corner. But you have to give me a clue how to do it. For once open that pretty mouth and tell me what you want."

 

But it was either that she couldn't tell him or perhaps the tone of his demand  
that irked her and made the argument just once too many.  
They already slept apart most nights.  
With that it became even more. 

And now she suspected that his trips were longer for "business" because of some extra marital involvement.

 

Mary sighed.  
One must keep up appearances for the sake of propriety, she knew.  
But she did feel very alone.  
(And now Tom was going, too. Everything golden turned to ashes.)

Lady Mary Crawley (Talbot) straightened herself up with an effort.  
She squared her shoulders and squinted toward the clock.

 

Maybe go see Carson, then?  
It would do them both good, in spite of the bittersweet nature of things.  
The books would wait for once, no pressing matters in winter.  
Lady Mary put on her hat to set off.

\---

Now when Lady Mary pulled up to the Carson household, Mrs. Hughes was in the midst of preparing a light meal.  
While those at the Abbey would laugh at their hours, Mrs. Hughes knew that several small meals were better for her Charlie than the regular schedule they'd known. 

Elsie could hear her husband slowly setting the table--just so--measuring out their silver as though it were placed for the Queen. (Particular old man, she smiled, amused.)

Charles Carson was still determined to be on top of things.  
He was still strong in his mind and spirit, though his body was weakening.  
This palsy of his seemed worse in the winter. His impaired gait became even stiffer.  
And his voice had gone soft without him knowing. 

Why, sometimes Elsie would lean in to hear him, and he'd argue with her that she should listen more carefully. (And she'd allow him the pretense that she was slightly deaf.)  
But truly, his once booming voice had gone whispery, without him realizing the change. 

The knock at the door shook her out of her thoughts, and opening it Mrs. Hughes smiled.  
She had grown very fond of Lady Mary these years, quite fond indeed.  
Her husband's 'favorite' was sometimes trying, but she was a tonic for Charlie.

"I've come to have Carson cheer me up," Lady Mary announced loudly, her distinctive nasal drawl intended to carry so that the old man could hear.  
"I do so need his advice."

And the two women nodded to each other, sharing a knowing look.  
It would be well worth soggy vegetables to have this interruption.  
Lady Mary would keep to light gossip and cheerful matters which would engage the old man.  
They both loved him and kept him in care.


	5. Chapter 5

-  
-  
-  
\----  
"Well, it's not the mystery of the Lindbergh baby, but it's still big news to us," Joe Miller said as Thomas told him his suspicions about Tom Branson.  
"Sneaking off, eh? What's Lady Mary going to do without her extra man paying court?"

Barrow poked him, hard, since the butler had grown to like Lady Mary the most of the Crawleys at the Abbey.  
Used to be it was Lady Edith who danced an extra dance with him or thought to ask him the weather in small talk.  
But since a few years back, Mr. Barrow had come to admire Mary the most. She'd done him a good turn more than once, and Thomas was nothing if not loyal.

 

Joe gave a sound somewhat between surprise and laughter. "I forgot. Mustn't criticize your noble twin, two evil halves separated at birth by the gypsies."  
This time, the large man avoided retribution by an inch.  
"Anyway, who is it? Do you know?"

 

"Not a clue," admitted Thomas somewhat grumpily. "He hasn't mentioned it at the Abbey. I just overheard that bit of a conversation on the telephone."  
"Lurking?" Joe teased.  
"Keeping an eye on things," Thomas corrected.  
"And you, what happened there?" Thomas gently moved a thumb across a large scratch on the other's chin.  
"Not keeping an eye on things well enough?"

 

"The trails aren't as clear as we used to keep them," Joe admitted. "Or maybe I'm just not as agile."  
"Going out in slippery weather like this," Thomas tutted.  
Joe smiled at him fondly for worrying. It was lovely to be able to trust someone to worry.  
"I'm careful, mum, honest," he joked back mockingly.  
"Mum," Thomas growled, but starting to smile in spite of himself. "And I'll see how agile you can be..."

Laughing, they came together for a kiss.

\---

Tom Branson, meanwhile, Tom Branson wasn't sure exactly what to do, whether to swoop in for a kiss or just politely show the woman to the door.  
They'd been walking quite close for the entire way, Almeda even daring to tuck her gloved hands into his arm and pull nearer, citing ice and temperatures.  
A snuggle, that, he thought. Or was he just reading things hopefully?

 

Branson had walked out with a few women since Sybil's death, of course.  
But mainly he'd focused on business after a while, and the only women he'd stepped out with the last few years were his daughter or his sister in law.  
Out of practice with reading such signals then, and Tom Branson had become a rather conservative man.

 

Branson's face, already flushed from the cold, blushed a bit rosier.  
"When did I become middle aged?" He thought, appalled.  
"I got an earl's daughter to marry me when I hadn't two pence to rub together, and now here I am in a bespoke suit, acting like someone fresh off the bogs."  
But that thought led to another.  
"I'll wager her family still calls me a 'bog trotter,'" Tom thought sourly. "Mr. Branson to my face and bog trotting Irish behind my back."

 

For there were still prejudices against the Irish and Catholics, in all classes of people.  
Tom'd been lucky in most things, lucky to have the Crawleys behind him. That kept both he and Sybbie somewhat insulated.  
But more than once he'd overheard the ends of comments, especially now that economic times were hard.  
To be successful and Irish, allied to a noble family, was more than some people could stomach these days.  
And Branson suspected some of Almeda's relatives were of that mind. 

 

But she was a lovely woman, and she was pulling him close and talking to him softly, looking up from under her lashes to smile.  
Obviously she didn't have any problems with being on his arm this evening.  
So with their farewell at the door, Tom Branson bent down and managed a tender but gentlemanly kiss, and left very pleased with himself.

\---

Under dark skies and stars, Thomas Barrow left the gamekeeper's cottage looking flushed, but smiling broadly.  
Though he had more grey than before, mussed up and displaying a grinning of teeth, he looked more a lad than he'd ever done, even in his actual youth.  
His was still not an easy life, but when he looked at the couples (Anna & Bates, the Parkers, the Moseleys), Thomas could now say he had what they did.  
And if the secrecy sometimes still made him bitter, he'd learned to dwell on it less.

 

Barrow's mind was filled with warmth from their time together, but as he went up the path, it also began to click over to the common place worries of life.  
Thomas was rather afraid of what Joe had played off to carelessness--that gash on his chin had looked painful.  
And there were poachers about on the trails, Barrow knew, and while local men were no danger (Joe knew every family), there were now strangers trespassing, too.

But Thomas shook his head and banished the worries. 

Still tingling with kisses and thinking disaster? What a fool he was at times.  
The stars were hanging there so bright it looked like you could reach right up and pull one down. A perfect frosty night.  
Thomas smiled.  
And entering the Abbey quietly, Mr. Barrow took Joe with him in his dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

(Note again: I know nothing more about cars in the 1930's than I did in the 1920's, which means almost nil. My father was the 'car man' in our family.)  
-  
-

-  
-  
-  
Tom, ever the tinkerer, had found a way to improve upon the engine in Henry's automobile,  
and Talbot enjoyed the sound of the Eight firing with such power as he motored along.

Bright and early off the train, Henry retrieved the tourer in the village, after making it back from another exhausting time with Morris.  


He shook his head wearily. While Henry enjoyed the old man, admired the energy of the (relatively new) baron, he had to admit the man was intense.  
Worse, Morris's relationship with Leonard Lord had grown chilly, in spite of Lord's recent good works improving production.

 

Which meant as Leonard's chum, Henry now knew he'd also fallen slightly out of favor.

Such a silly dust up.

It had never been his intention when entering the company to have to deal with such things.  
Henry enjoyed car talk and laughter and easy conversations even among competitors, not cut throat maneuvers and office politics.  
Both men were outstanding, he knew, so the friction must be coming from below.  
But now it threatened to permanently split the company if it got much more out of hand.

 

Tom was so lucky to be out of it, village politics was surely a walk in the park.  
And business--just turning a small steady profit while doing what he pleased on the side.  
Why, Tom could tinker with a transmission or an engine and give the ideas away for the asking, Talbot thought.  
That was no longer the thought process of the people with which Henry found himself. 

Couldn't even pick his own model to drive.

 

More businessman than "car man" now, Henry thought with real regret.  
But at least, he could enjoy a few days of whizzing down the village roadways. (A rolling advertisement?)  
Enjoy seeing his daughter Violet and his son Edward.  
Take a breath from the making of money for a change.

\---

Isobel Merton was in a more somber state of mind than Henry, to be sure.

As winter had worn away, Lady Merton had found herself more and more immersed in the soup kitchen attached to their hospital.  
Once only for patient's families, Isobel now had broadened it to include a few "extra" drop by's...purely on the sly. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on perspective) young Sybbie Branson had decided that she needed a job, and that job should be at the kitchen. 

 

The image of her mother, Isobel thought with a smile.  
The old lady had always liked all the Crawley girls, but admitted to herself that Sybil had been the one most in line with her world view.  
And now Sybbie had her mother's compassion and feeling of noblesse oblige, plus the energy and modern thought of her father.

At first Isobel thought she might be a "lady" volunteer and not do much more than ladle some food.  
But the girl, almost fifteen and looking much older, had taken on the responsibilities of a full grown adult.  
There'd been a bit of a disagreement about it, of course, with Mary saying the girl was too gently raised to be around a soup kitchen.

 

Yet Sybbie had prevailed.  
"It's not like in your day, Aunt Mary," she'd said at dinner one night. "I don't need to be 'out' to be useful. You don't need to watch over me like a hot house flower. Besides, I'll be more under daddy's eye there than I would be out here."  
And displaying her most useful weapon, Sybbie had smiled and shown her dimples to her father, who immediately found himself wrapped around her finger. 

 

"It's useful work, and if Isobel is there to watch, too, I don't see the matter. I'll drop by occasionally unannounced," he gave her a pointed look. "Which will catch any shenanigans."  
Sybbie just giggled.  
"Aunt Mary, really, if I'm to grow up like you and have a life other than just being a wife, how else am I to learn?" The girl said it so rationally, her aunt had little come back. 

 

"Well, that's putting the argument well," her uncle Henry said mildly.  
Without George here to back her, and the youngsters at the nursery table, Henry felt compelled to help Sybbie out.  
"She'll do a good job learning the ropes and end up running things, no doubt, smart as she is."

Branson smiled fondly at his daughter and nodded to his friend.  
Meanwhile Lady Mary looked for barbs behind his words.  
(Thought her hard, perhaps? Domineering?)

"Well, I'm outnumbered. Mama? Papa?" Mary asked turning to the others. 

 

"I think Isobel may be doing more than she should," Cora commented, "But that's an argument for the hospital board. In the meantime, why not let Sybbie help out? Better feeding a few villagers than actually being on the wards."  
And catching an interest sparking in the young girl at THAT topic, Cora cut her off.  
"Because I'd have to draw the line at that."

Sybbie agreed complacently. Why, she'd meet more young people helping at the kitchens anyway. And if her job had some fun to it, so much the better!

"I really am disappointed Georgie won't come home for his short leave," the young girl said, willing to change topics now that she'd won.  
"He kept hinting at something called a danger society. Have you heard of it, Donk? Or is he just having fun at my expense?"

Thus, the conversation turned.

\---

A mere few days later, the roads were soggy with a slight early thaw.  
"Back to it, then," Henry still thought, determined to motor it to the south. 

He was so impressed with Tom's engine work that he thought he'd show it down at Oxford--maybe garner back some lost glory, touch wood.  
It wouldn't hurt, and besides it gave him a chance at a few days free--both of work and of home. 

Henry sighed.

 

Mary and he were not aging well together.  
She'd thought she was marrying an exciting driver or a smart-but-always-available businessman. And he knew he'd proven a failure to her expectations.  
But to be fair, he'd thought her more willing to bend. More willing to let go and follow his lead on things.  
Failure on both sides, then.

Henry sighed again, acknowledging the failure, but still wanting to find a way around it, still wanting his wife. For Talbot continued to be very attracted to Lady Mary Crawley. Still found her to be a very bewitching woman...all while sometimes hating her a little.  
It was exasperating.

No, a few days without family and a few days without business might calm the anger he was beginning to build.  
At least the road was his friend.


	7. Chapter 7

(Note: Rose refers to her children as not legally Jewish, since she has not converted. Germans at the time, however, would have considered anyone with grandparents who were faithful to be labeled Jewish. And as to Atticus, he is not 'practicing.' So...I'm attempting period typical references to faith...but there's religious law, civil law, and individual/identity views...so I did my best to be clear, but may have not been.)

-  
-  
-  
It was the beginnings of spring, and she really should have been happier with it, Rose thought guiltily.  
She shooed her two youngest in out of the fresh air, pink from running their errands.  
But she was not thinking of sunshine or blue skies as she handed the butler her wrap. She was thinking of finding her husband, even if it meant interrupting his work.  
\---

"I don't much care for this place," stated Rose, not complaining or whining, just stating the fact.  
"Why can't we take care of the company's business in London or New York, and leave this mess to somebody else?"

She wrapped her arms around Atticus, using her forehead to rub his head from the back.  
Rose was still his jazz baby bride, though several times a mother now, and usually she was keen for any new adventure, giddy for any location.  
But Germany in 1935 was proving to be just too much for even her open hearted way of looking at things. 

 

"Father needs me here, just a few more months. It keeps the staff calmer about the prospects for success." Atticus had said this, or a variant on this, several times already, and he knew it.  
So he hesitated afterwards studying her; it wasn't like his Rose to complain.  
"What has you worried? Is it something where I can help?"

 

His wife chewed her lip and considered. She really didn't want to be a bad sport about things. And she knew Father Sinderby was demanding with Atticus.  
So she tried to smile, even managed a tiny giggle to brush the trouble away.  
"No, it's probably nothing, just a disagreeable shopkeeper."

 

"Rosie?" he prompted, seeing through her attempt.  
Lady Rose sighed softly in his ear before standing back straight.

 

"I just don't understand why they're so intent on being nasty to Jews. That's silly enough, but they're nasty to me, when I'm not Jewish. Heavens, you aren't even...much...though I know your father would simply die to hear me say it."  
Rose moved around the desk until she was in front of her husband, looking deeply into his eyes.  
"I know people can be hateful, even people in England and the States. But this shopkeeper made a comment about me and the children, Atticus. He refused to serve us, and he doesn't even know us."

 

Atticus got up and moved toward the sofa. "Come here, darling, sit with me," he prompted, opening his arms wide.  
And his wife came, quick footed, into them.  
"People are always like that. The Germans are just more open with it, times as hard as they are."

"No, Atticus," she protested, looking up at him intensely. "Somehow this is different. That he knows you're Jewish and is foolish enough to look down on us is bad enough. But you know the children aren't considered Jewish, not only haven't been raised that way but also because of me."  
"Yet this man said he wants us all....dead." The word hung there for a moment in the silence.

 

"If he threatened you, we'll call in the police," Atticus said calmly, though his tight hold on her belied the tone.  
Rose simply looked up and raised an eyebrow.  
"We'll add a large footman to go out with you, then," he amended. "Or maybe you should just go back a bit early, take the children and visit your father?"  
This had been his suggestion before.

 

Rose, predictably, shook her head.  
"No, we'll all go together. Soon?"  
And she said no more, but shuddered once, remembering that the shopkeeper had not only threatened her, but also spit on the ground near her feet. 

 

Why, she was a woman of good family and this nobody dared spit at her. Refused her service and looked down on her, children and all.  
England should have refused any contact with the country, even after Versailles.  
For once, Rose had come up against a people to whom she could not open her heart.  
It made her both sad and afraid.

\---

Meanwhile back in England, Edith Pellham was sitting in the library, talking quietly with her father.  
She'd come to Downton with Marigold and young Robert in tow on her way back from a visit to London.  
Aunt Rosamund had been sick again, which made several times this past winter, and Edith thought it was time someone from the family showed their face.  
(Best her, though, Edith thought. Rosamund had always been fond of her, even when no one else noticed her existence.)

 

And though the main feature of the journey was checking on her aunt, Edith also wanted to share with her father news she'd had from Michael Gregson.  
Of course, it wasn't about Marigold this time. Gregson had agreed to play the role of family friend and had become something of a 'fond uncle' to their daughter.  
This time the news that had her concerned was about Germany.

 

When Gregson had finally been free to come back home, he'd sworn he'd never go back to that dangerous country. And he didn't.  
But that didn't mean he didn't keep an ear to the ground about developments there.  
To hear him tell it, the Germans were outright flaunting the armament section of the treaty, and the thugs who had imprisoned him for so long were now the thugs in power.  
The Nazi's had risen and promised more of the same. 

 

It was worse than the headlines of appeasement made it, and Edith knew her father needed to understand this, since Rose and Atticus were still over there.  
It was absurd, really, but Lady Edith felt especially protective of Rose. (She thought of her cousin as that same young girl escaping supervision to go dancing. )

Now she was doing something much more dangerous.  
Perhaps Edith's father could do something, or at least contact Shrimpy and make connections.  
So they sat quietly talking together, hoping to come up with a solution.

 

The fact that she would then be able to enjoy the rest of the day walking the grounds with him and watching the "two Roberts" together was merely a bonus.  
But a good bonus.  
The Marchioness of Hexham smiled and absently petted Horus.  
At least she knew with her children, she'd have a legacy. They were both very precious indeed. 

\---

Sybbie was quite happy to have her cousin visit, of course.  
Marigold was more quiet than Sybbie and George, but she was every bit as bright. And her comments, though rare, were the pointed sort generated by people who observe and only rarely choose to share.  
Sybbie didn't even mind much that right now that humorous look was turned on her. 

 

Marigold had caught her slight blush and distraction when Daniel Barrow brought the delivery to the soup kitchen.  
So far Sybbie's choice of 'entertainments' for her cousin had proved awfully dull, but this made Marigold sit up and pay attention.  
"So you've just suddenly decided to be a do-gooder?" the younger girl asked in a gently mocking tone. 

"My mother did nursing. George's granny does. And it's not like women can't work, at least in our family," Sybbie laughed, not at first noticing the direction of Marigold's look. 

 

"But that young man who left, the older one, is he in here often?" Marigold pressed with a more open jab.  
Sybbie's blush deepened. "That. Was Mr. Barrow's nephew," she clipped off. "And he is older, far too old for the likes of us, Marigold."  
Sybbie said the last sternly, warningly, to her cousin.  
Not only did she not want to be caught out, she didn't appreciate that the other young girl had noticed Daniel. 

 

"Hmmm..." said Marigold. "Yes, much too old. And it's a miracle they even let him come near. You know."  
She said this last meaningfully, though she knew for a fact that Sybbie would have no idea of her message.  
Sybbie waited silently for an explanation, head tilted, eyes wide. Finally, she came out with, "well, go on. You have me."

 

Marigold smiled quietly to herself, satisfied.  
She not only overheard discussions at Brancaster far beyond her years, but she also knew where her mother's novels were hidden. The ones inappropriate for someone of her tender years.  
Very educational.

 

A stray overheard comment about Barrow and some key reading of a rather lurid fiction had done it.  
"Don't you know he hasn't a name?" Marigold whispered breathlessly in her cousin's ears.  
"What," Sybbie said, pulling away in annoyance. "What are you saying?"

 

Marigold looked around her. For a twelve year old this was daring news.  
"His last name is Barrow. Think on it Sybil Branson. His last name is Barrow, and he's our Mr. Barrow's sister's son."  
She let it sit there to sink in a moment, let her parse it like grammar.

 

"Why do you think he's not working in the house or the grounds? Why do you think they had nothing better for him than the pig farm?"  
Marigold nodded decisively. "I heard mama talking to Aunt Mary. She wanted him to have better, they both seemed to want it from what I heard. You know how they both like to 'arrange things.'  
"But no matter how much the family appreciates Barrow, Donk wouldn't let his nephew on the estate, said this job was kindness enough."

"He's a bastard." Marigold finished baldly.  
"That's the word for it, though I'll deny it if you say you learned it from me."

And Sybbie sat there confused and slightly stunned at her thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

-  
-  
-

The next day, Lady Edith and her two children caught the train at mid day, glad to be returning to Brancaster.  
Robbie still had a nanny with him, and the woman had taken the young people to the dining car to give the marchioness time alone.  
She flipped through her magazine and tried to cheer herself up, but it wasn't really working.  
  
The trip that had started so successfully had ended as anything but.

 

Edith loved her parents, of course, and loved the look on their faces when they saw their grandchildren.  
And it was always a relief to know that her father was working on keeping the world at an even keel.  
But Edith would be glad to be out of the presence of her sister.

 

"She's just a horrible person, spiteful and nasty whenever things aren't going smoothly for her," Edith thought, shaking her head as the train chugged on.  
And Mary really had nothing to be aggravated about these days--a successful husband and steady times at the Abbey.

"Just because life isn't a string of beaux and house parties. She just can't be satisfied those days are over," Edith concluded sourly to herself.  
Why, even if Henry talked his employer into buying Tom's inventions, Edith would be willing to wager Mary'd be against it.  
Poor man.  
He deserved so much better.

 

And the scathing comments Mary had made when she and Edith were alone: digging into her plans for Marigold's future.  
What had Edith done about coming out?  
"Have you considered what to do about introductions and marriage? She'll take 'extra effort' to find a place."  
At this last comment, Mary had turned and walked away...destruction complete.

 

"Did she really think I'd started considering a twelve year old's engagement?"  
Edith muttered under her breath, earning her an odd look from the other woman in the compartment.  
(Smiling weakly in embarrassment, Edith turned to look out at the passing countryside.)  
And, no, Edith had to admit, she hadn't considered it a problem, hadn't started planning so early on her behalf.  
Why, it was still years out.

 

So now on the train ride back, the Marchioness began to think about her daughter's options.  
And in her mind, the truth wasn't one of them. 

At all costs, they must protect Marigold from her beginnings, mainly for her own sake but also for the sake of her brother and parents.  
Brancaster was large, and larger castles were harder to maintain in this economy than relatively smaller manor homes.  
Marigold mustn't become their tipping point into ruin.

 

Perhaps the sons of those officers she'd nursed? They still sent her letters at Christmas.  
And Rosamund would help. (Mama if she could.)  
"I didn't realize how much reputation would come to matter to someone in my position," Edith thought. "I could live out my punishment, reap what I've sown. But how unfair to think that it might color the lives of my children...maybe my grandchildren."

Edith couldn't let go of that worry.  
Damn Mary for unearthing it again.

\--- 

Much later that night, there were still reverberations from the visit echoing through Downton as well.

Sybbie crept back down the main staircase to the sitting room below.  
It was dark along the way, and she walked from one pool of light to the next quietly.  
The girl had gone up earlier and tried to fall asleep while the adults had their drinks.  
But she just couldn't let the problem go. 

 

Marigold was gone, so it wasn't her presence that was the reminder.  
(Frankly, Sybbie had been hard put to make conversation after her cousin dropped her bombshell. But she'd managed.)  
However, now that she was free of distractions, her mind had actually started whirring that much more. 

It didn't make sense.  
Barrow, her Barrow, must know, but he didn't seem in any way ashamed of the young man.  
And he was so proper.  
And Aunt Mary? Her father?

 

Sybbie just couldn't believe it. Marigold must have made some mistake in listening.  
Why, Aunt Mary kept her last name when she'd married Georgie's father.  
Marigold had just mixed something she'd misheard into a novel she'd read, Sybbie tried to convince herself.

But the girl still couldn't sleep.  
What if it were true?

 

So she found herself, now, not in bed but peering into the sitting room, hoping to find her father alone.  
"Daddy?" she said, moving to his side.  
Tom Branson looked up, surprised, but not unhappily so. "Are you all right, love? Is something the matter?"

Sybbie smiled and moved to sit with him. "I'm all right, but I had a question. A private question that I need to ask you."

 

Her voice was low and trembled a bit, like her mother's had when troubled.

Tom reached over and patted her hand, almost misting up as he did so. (Same eyes, too, he thought.)  
"Well, ask away then. I don't have all the answers but you know I'll do my best."

 

She hesitated.  
" I know you'll know the answer, but I don't know if you can share it. And, besides, it's difficult to ask."  
The young girl chewed on her lip, thinking how to best phrase things.  
"Could you tell me how to feel on a general topic? I could ask and you could tell me without harming anyone's privacy?"

 

"Goodness," said Tom, rousing himself to attention and pushing sentiment aside.  
"Tell me what mystery you have yourself wrapped up in, then."

"Illegitimate children," Sybbie replied.  
Her father choked on his own breath, coughing slightly and turning red.  
And Sybbie giggled once, but then turned pink herself. 

 

"Sorry, daddy. That WAS abrupt. But I found out something about someone I like....like very much, in fact. But I don't know how to feel about it."  
Tom studied her carefully.  
So she knew about Marigold he (mistakenly) thought. 

 

"It's quite the topic, Sybbie, and I'm not sure it's an appropriate one. But.... Let's say you suspect something about one of the....children at the soup kitchen."  
(The girl nodded. That was safe.)  
"And you're friends with her already, and know her to be good.  
I'd just say you judge people on who they are themselves not on their birth."

"Course it's not right," added Tom, the instinct to keep his own daughter's reputation safe kicking in. "It's not right at all, and shouldn't happen at all costs."  
"But every mistake has a story behind it, so that's double the reason not to judge hastily or harshly."

 

Sybbie nodded again, relieved, since it fell in line with her own thoughts.  
That was good...or at least good enough.  
If what Marigold said was true, her father didn't judge Daniel as bad.  
And if Marigold was wrong, then no harm had been done by raising the question.  
Her father would just think it was 'one of the children.'

 

"That's all I wanted to know, daddy. I just couldn't rest easy until I knew."  
And with that, Sybbie kissed him and was gone.  
  
Tom, however, Tom was left to get another drink and sit worrying by the fire for quite some time to come.


	9. Chapter 9

-  
-  
-  
It was like the electricity switches behind the wall tapestries--flip them down for darkness and up for good, clean light.  
Things 'flipped up.'  
Yes, just that suddenly things 'lightened' at the Abbey.  
And it was all due to George Crawley coming home after Lent half  
that they now all had a bit of bright electric fizzing inside.

 

Lady Mary seemed to walk about with the hint of a smile all the time (which made things much easier for everyone.)  
Tom and Sybbie were happy to have him back, for the entertainment of his mad ideas.  
His brother Edward, five, and the Bates boys, six and nine, fell into hero worship, glad to have someone other than young Violet to boss them about again.  
And Mr. Barrow was actually seen to forget himself and stand grinning in the great hall. (But only for a moment before the proper expression was added back.)

 

Even Lady Mary knew the butler had his 'favorites,' and was heard to casually say to Barrow. "Why, he walks like you do. When did he start doing that?"  
And though the butler murmured a denial (and turned faintly pink that anyone would think he strutted like some young school boy) he did chuckle over it, later in his room alone.

 

Yes, Master George was loved by all of them.  
And he enjoyed everyone in turn, though he wasn't the harem scarem of years past, nor the spoiled child either. (Well, much.)

He had some self control these days, more than they gave him credit for, and his schoolwork in Lent half had shown a respectable intellect--for which his grandfather, especially, gave thanks.  
(Georgie would, after all, inherit the show after him. He was the Heir.)

 

So Robert was especially animated at dinner in telling his memories, talking of beaks and books, cricket and field game.  
Tom suggested that, rather than giving George any pointers himself, he should leave the task to Mr. Barrow--for Barrow had never met a sport he didn't like.  
And Thomas managed through supreme effort to keep his mind on serving the meal, especially when Sybbie added that they should just send him off with Georgie to Eton.

(The thought of Barrow, dressed in full Eton regalia, looming over the rapscallions and teaching them proper cricket made everyone smile. That would keep Georgie safe, right enough. )

 

"I knew you'd like it. I knew you'd do well," Robert kept saying, beaming at the boy.  
"We all did, papa," Mary nodded in agreement. "Though it pained us all to see him go."

 

So the light was back on in their eyes as spring rolled into Downton Abbey.  
Outdoors reflected the mood indoors--greening and quickened and bright.

\---

Henry came back from the midlands with two surprises--one accepted, the other not. 

First, he had made a deal with Morris to buy the rights to Tom's tinkerings.  
And while Tom didn't like the notion of no longer owning his own modifications, the money was good and his concerns small. (There were always other ideas in Tom's head, after all.)

But the problem came in when Henry suggested that the company put a small factory near the village to work on the parts.  
"It provides jobs, when we need them," Henry argued, "And it lets Tom keep an eye over things for Morris, to keep the quality up."

 

"But it would blight this beautiful place," Robert replied, and Mary agreed with him. They'd worked too hard on the houses at Pip's Corners, and the additions, to now let anything out of place be allowed.  
"Try York," Mary suggested, not too sharply for once, but with finality. "They've added some business in candies and such. And there might be open space in buildings there. Or even as far as Manchester?"

 

"It wouldn't help our people as much with the jobs for now, but we see how factories come and go," Robert added. "I'd not want it built, only to abandon when they decided to move on to other parts, and other inventions. That's not what our village life is about."

Henry, of course, tried to take things with good grace and keep the peace.  
At least he'd won the point with Tom on selling the patents. But he really didn't want to go back to Morris with a flat 'no' on production.  
So he decided to leave the plan open with Morris in case the family came round. 

\---

Times were, indeed, hard in the county, with jobless rates increasing.  
Politics became even more heated of late. 

Tom Branson, though focusing his efforts on local things, felt this turning toward the conservatives.  
And, again, he noticed an edge that had before been hidden, about his faith and his origins.  
Ireland still was not a peaceful land, and even in Downton there were stories of the unrest there.  
And Tom's place of privilege made these revolutionary ideas from his homeland bear that much more weight against him.

 

But Branson tried not to take it too much to heart.  
He was proud of his business, and of treating all people fairly.  
He still tended to greet people by name and smile a friendly smile.

Tom was indeed his own man, and he wouldn't let the problems change him.  
Which made everyone who knew him love him all the more. 

\---

Since it was spring, Lady Mary was back on full duty with her estate management.  
And she relied on Tom's opinion to keep her on track.  
The two had always been allies in this business, and Tom's work in it originally had set the direction she continued.  
(Though she'd made her way boldly as she went.)

 

"You must still help me with the pigs when you've been swept up into Henry's world," she said half jokingly, half searchingly one morning.  
Mary was still uneasy that Tom would be pulled away from the family by his new lady friend, and Henry's suggestion of increased involvement in Morris was one worry too much.  
"I'm not worried, of course," she said, meaning that she was. "I know you won't let it take you away like he does."

 

Branson grinned at her.  
He wished that everyone could see 'his' Mary. She really wasn't the monster that people painted her.  
If you stood up to her, she didn't bully. If you were loyal, she responded in kind.  
"I'm not going anywhere, and you of all people should know it. Somewhere back when I decided against Boston, I became a permanent part of this place."  
"And though the villagers seem to think that such a thing takes generations, I'm settled on it in my mind."

 

Mary smiled back. "No motor car factories, then? Not trying to change us?"

"No, Mary, I'm not trying to change anyone. I like you all very much as you are.  
And now, to the estate matters," he began, and they sat, comfortably talking.  
Two very different people, but really of one mind.

 

It was spring and Downton had its time of peace.


	10. Chapter 10

-  
-  
-  
\---  
Joe Miller actually hated the sound of a gun, or rather what he hated was actually the unexpected sound of a shot.  
If he had time to prepare himself, know what he was aiming at, the purpose of the kill, he'd be all right.  
(He was a gamekeeper, after all.)  
But an unexpected shot still made him jump back in his mind for a moment to France and that long ago war. 

 

So when he was out walking the trail and he heard a shot, Joe instantly jumped a bit, ducked, looked around.  
It was far enough into good weather that no one should be stealing their meat on the hoof.  


But there it was again, two sharp reports. 

 

Joe made his way carefully forward, making noise as he went, even meaning to yell out when he thought he was close.  
But after thrashing about for five minutes, the gamekeeper had heard nothing further and made no contact.  
Just as well, the thought. Maybe they heard and ran away.  
Then things went to black and he fell.

\---

"I don't understand why he didn't show up," Nanny fretted to Mr. Barrow.  
"Miss Violet was in quite a stew. They'd been promised a look at the young birds before they'd been released to the wild. And you know that child.  
"She was not happy to be denied."

 

"Imperious, like old lady Grantham," Mr. Barrow agreed, nodding his head.  
"Well, I'm sure it must have been something needed done straight away. Mr. Miller is usually very prompt. I'll let him know, though, when he comes in that you were inconvenienced."

"It's all right for now," Nanny admitted. "Mrs. Parker has them busy licking spoons."  
"Those boys, like puppies in a basket, wriggling so. It's good for Master Edward that the others aren't shy, but it does make for quite a bit of noise."

 

Barrow smirked. "And the search for the new tutor?"  
"It's underway," Nanny replied. "Mr. Tuttle was exceptional with the older two, but these sprouts were really too young to have much tutoring anyway." She grinned.  
"We'll hope the next one likes children as much as Latin."

And so, Nanny left the butler to his ledgers.

\---

Right before luncheon, Danny stopped in to deliver some odd lots, and his uncle asked him to stop by Miller's cottage and pass along the message.  
But the young man returned as they were finishing with upstairs service and settling down to their own.  
Joe wasn't anywhere to be found.  
Danny'd spent the time looking about and putting out feed for some hatchlings.

 

"I know it's foolish to worry, but he wouldn't have left them without feed like that," Daniel said, "Which is why I thought I should circle back."  
"It's downright odd."

Now, if it were Lord Grantham, they'd call out a party to search straight away, but a gamekeeper had miles of paths.  
Joe was likely on one, delayed by some job or other. And thinking anything more was over reacting.  
Still, a shiver went up Thomas's spine. (He wouldn't have forgotten the children, job or not.)

"Do you think you could ask Mr. Mason to come look with you? Look more thoroughly without making a fuss?  
"Mason knows the woods well, lived nearby all his life, and if there was a problem, you'd be with him to lift."

 

"Perhaps Mr. Moseley instead," Phyllis suggested. "He's closer--at the gate house. I know he's not a hunting man, but he knows the paths."  
Barrow nodded and chewed his lip. "If Joe's just working, he'll scream blue murder, but it is odd enough."

 

"You should go, too, Mr. Barrow," Andy said. "If you aren't back by dinner, I can ring the gong and serve. We'll just say you've gone ill."  
Daisy, having come in to hear the news, seconded that idea. "It's not like Joe at all, it isn't," she urged. 

Thomas knew he shouldn't.  
But decided to anyway.  
Chances were he'd be back before anyone upstairs would notice him stepped out at all.

 

"We should certainly be back by dinner, but if I'm not, pull Mr. Branson aside and don't tell tales. Nanny was worried and so were the children, so I suppose it's acceptable for me to check things.  
"And if it takes that long, there's something that needs checking.  
"Danny, I'm going straight, but you and Moseley can figure out your plan and follow."

And with that, he was gone.

\----

Upstairs the family was also receiving mixed news.  
A telegram had come from Germany saying that Rose and the children were on the way.  
Just that. Nothing in the way of an explanation, nothing about why Atticus wasn't accompanying her.

"We'll call Shrimpy and sort it out," Lord Grantham suggested. "He'll have got the news, too, and probably has more to tell." Only he and Cora were in the sitting room at that point, and she waited to disturb the others until he'd put thought into action. 

 

"Everything is fine, I'm sure," she said in encouragement. "If there was something terribly wrong, they'd have said it, even if it wasted another five words."  
She smiled and squeezed Robert's hand before he rose to make the call.

\---

Barrow hadn't even taken time to change out of his livery, he realized part way.  
"This had better be some silly misunderstanding," he muttered to himself as he half walked, half ran down the familiar path. "You'd best just be late with the work."  
But the prickling feeling on the back of his neck continued. 

\---  
"Shrimpy said that everything is perfectly all right, and that Atticus is following shortly. They just had some trouble with his passage, and they knew he'd be able to find a later train more easily without a large family in tow."  
Robert paced the length of the room, trying to get the others to calm themselves.  
"Now, really. I know we've been reading the reports and worrying, but there's nothing new. It's good news, really. They've seen reason and are coming home."

 

Mary nodded. Best face forward, then.  
"Rose with her ducklings. We'd better offer that Shrimpy bring them here directly. His place is too small. I'll tell Mrs. Moseley."  
She went to ring for her, but Cora interrupted.  
"Perhaps I should see her," Lady Grantham suggested. "And you can go and tell Nanny to arrange the nursery?"

 

And with these tasks in mind, the women left the room.  
"Well, that's us then. What can we do?" Tom asked Lord Grantham.  
"I'll call back Shrimpy with the offer. I'm not sure of what else," Robert replied. "Let's hope he's right about Atticus coming straight after, though. There should have been no reason for this initial delay."

\---

Barrow crashed down the path by the keeper's shelters.  
There were several, and he'd already managed to check the first.  
This second one was where he'd once hidden poor old Isis.  
Silly dog. (Perhaps I should have gone upstairs and asked to borrow Horus?)

 

Joe might have been working in the area around one of the shelters, and an open door would give him a clue.  
"This is foolish. I've got to get hold of myself," Thomas gasped, coming to a rest for a moment.  
The woods seemed almost haunted, in spite of the afternoon light.

No movement. No sound.  
And no clues to be found in the shelter.  
But Thomas noticed a break in the brush up above.  
Had an animal crashed through there? Might Joe have had to go after something?  
A spot of blood.

 

"Joe?" he called out.  
Louder, "Joe Miller, you answer me if you hear!"

There was still no sound, but Thomas decided to check the high ground anyway.  
It was probably an animal injured.  
But Joe might have gone after it, with some thought of compassion.

 

"If I get myself lost, too, they'll have a real time of it," he mumbled.  
But mainly he said something just to fill the awful silence and sooth his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

-  
-  
-  
"What do you mean, Miller didn't show up?" George asked his younger sister.   
Violet was making the young man play with her, since he (unlike Edward) had sense.

"We were to see the birds. The ones from Donk's book that Nanny borrowed. Mr. Miller grows them from eggs, you know. We watched one hatch early on." The little girl looked up at him with serious eyes.   
"Now that they're going out into the woods, we wanted to say goodbye, but he forgot." Here Violet's eyebrows drew together and she frowned.   
"He shouldn't have forgotten us like that, without warning. It was most rude."

 

George would normally have laughed at her tone, but he was puzzled at the story.   
Miller had been friendly with the boy over the years, and he'd never proven to be anything but responsible.   
And he was Barrow's friend. Which meant if something had gone wrong with Mr. Miller, then his Barrow ought to know. 

\---

Thomas found Joe without much trouble by following the droplets of blood.  
Not much, thank God, but still visible.

 

"Joe?" he said, his voice breaking the first time.  
"Now, listen, you, no fooling now."   
Thomas rolled the other man over to see what was wrong.   
Still breathing, then. Thomas almost could cry with relief. 

 

But not conscious. And where was the blood?  
"What did you do, you great idjit? Run into a tree in the forest?"  
Thomas's hands gently ran over his head first, finding a lump and a gash in the back.  
Head wounds bleed 'copiously' he remembered from training.

'Copiously,' that was the word.  
Thomas's hand came away red.  
He took off his jacket, and quickly stripped off his shirt. The undershirt would be best for bandaging.

 

"He's still not making a sound, though," Thomas muttered to himself. "That's not good."  
Barrow's hands checked for other wounds.  
There were quite a few scrapes, as though Miller had been dragged further into the thicket to hide.  
One long slicing tear though his jacket.

 

When Thomas peeled it back, he hissed to see more blood there.  
"All right then, you've made a mess of it."  
He used his shirt this time, folding it in layers and pressing it close. The jacket would hold it in place.

 

Thomas stood and scrambled into his own jacket, thinking and looking about.   
Daniel might have gone in the other direction, should have, really, to cover more ground.  
And Barrow was closer to the Abbey than the cottage by now, could run there to bring back help.  
But he couldn't bring himself to leave Joe on the ground like this, even if he could go faster alone. 

 

"Right then, this will hurt, perhaps, but it'll get you there quicker," Thomas said to Joe's motionless form.   
He rolled him and lifted him over his shoulder in an unsteady soldier's carry.  
"I've got you," he muttered. "I've got you, Joe."  
A half sob caught in his throat. 

None of that. Straighten up.   
"I've got you, love. It's slow going, me, but we'll get back safe enough."  
Joe's weight crushed his shoulders, but years of carrying loaded trays up and down flights of stairs had kept his muscles toned. 

 

A bit thicker, yes, but stronger even than in his youth when he'd wasted time on preening rather than work.   
"We'll make it straight back to the Abbey and a doctor, yes?"  
And then he saved his breath for the work.

\---

George had gone downstairs to see Barrow, and instead had to take time to pry the story from Andrew.   
And if Barrow felt there might be a reason to check, then George knew there was a reason to check, too.  
"I'll go get Uncle, now. I know you don't want any of the rest of the family, but he'll know how to help. And he likes Miller, too," Georgie said and made for the stairs. 

And now the two of them were crossing the lawn, making it to the path just in time to see Barrow staggering out, with Miller still carried.

 

Branson came forward at a run.  
"Bleeding," Thomas gasped out, winded though not willing to give over. "Needs a doctor."

 

"George, go call the doctor. Thomas, let me help you carry him the rest of the way."   
Branson shouted the orders and the boy ran back to the house.   
Thomas, however, shook his head no and continued to walk. 

"Almost there," he said. "I've got him."  
And Tom walked beside, using his arms to stabilize both.

\---

The servant's door was closer, and Daisy was coming running from it, running with Andy as soon as George had come in.

"The doctor's being called," she said. "Come in to the hall and we'll get water and bandages. Mrs. Moseley is getting what we need."

Thomas looked at her. "He's hurt."   
The words came out thin and cracked.  
"He's hurt, Daisy."

"S'okay, Thomas. We'll set him straight soon enough."   
And Daisy and Tom Branson followed him in and helped him gently lower Joe down.

\----

The doctor came, and looked sufficiently grim to almost earn him a knock in the face from Andy.  
The footman was about on his last nerve, what with worry.  
And Thomas was holding on by a thread, too.

 

"I'm thinking concussion, which needs to be watched. Since he hasn't come around, yet, that may be serious. But his pupils are reacting, so that's hopeful. And he did lose blood, which could also be a reason."  
"We'll just have to watch and wait.  
"If he doesn't come fully round by morning, we'll transport him to hospital, but let's not assume it's necessary yet."

 

Carefully, they took Miller up into the men's hall and tucked him into a bed there.  
And by this time, the whole house was alerted. So George was allowed to walk down to call off Danny from the search.   
And Mary sent orders down that Anna could help nurse; she'd dress herself for dinner.  
Thomas, of course, didn't leave the room. 

No one made mention of it, and Andy shoved the doctor out when he was done without suggesting Thomas leave.  
He wouldn't have anyway, Andy knew.

 

But when Anna came in, she looked the butler down, head to toe, and told him he'd have to go clean up if he was to stay.  
"Didn't we always keep things tidy at Downton Convalescence?" she asked him in as light of a tone as she dared. "I'll sit here while you go get clean. Then I'll bring you dinner when you come back."  
"I don't want to leave," Thomas tried.

"And you won't. Just go across and change. I'll call out through the door if he starts to wake up. You'll be in earshot the whole time." Anna used her 'mother voice,' the sensible tone known to women, and Thomas finally nodded.

 

"I'll only be a minute."   
"Take two. Honestly, Mr. Barrow, you'll be no use to him if you drop over yourself," and Anna patted the butler on the back as she steered him out the door.

\---

"What a day," Lady Mary drawled, as Branson came to sit with her. "I do hope he'll be all right."  
"What about Rose?" Tom asked. "Did we hear anything further?"  
"Just that she'll come here direct, as I suggested," Mary returned. "Shrimpy agreed it was best."  
"Mama told Mrs. Moseley to prepare for them, so that's done. It's just to wait."

Tom nodded absently.   
He knew the news out of Germany these days wasn't good, but he had faith that Atticus would have decided to leave well ahead of any real trouble.   
Rose would be fine, he was sure of it, and hopefully Atticus, too.


	12. Chapter 12

(Me to myself, sitting down: "Don't be soppy." Me to myself finishing: "Ah, well, my fingers just typed it that way."

-  
-  
-  
Thomas was sitting in the near chair, pulled as close as he could get it.  
All afternoon and night, he only abandoned his post when one of the others came.  
Then down the hall to the lavoratory, door open, with a return in minutes to take the second bed.  
No sleep, though.

 

His eyes had a gritty red rim around them that made the grey look even more pale.  
Thomas looked scruffy. Unkempt, even.  
And he didn't bloody care.  
Andy could take breakfast and lunch service, with Moseley helping at dinner if Phyllis's offer held.  
The Crawleys would have to make do with that.

 

Officially, Thomas was one of the wounded, too.  
His face was cut from running through the brush without heed.  
One spot on his cheekbone swollen big as a hen's egg and clotted without him even feeling the blow. 

 

He'd waved the pain aside as nothing: There was no thought of anything in his brain but the still, white figure in the bed.

"You've got to come awake, now, Joe. Come on, you daft bugger. Just wake up and stay with me a while."  
Barrow didn't like the way his voice sounded, weak and pleading, but it had been a forever sort of night.

 

True, Joe had tried to come out of it three times, each time raising Thomas's hopes,  
but each time after saying the same few words, he'd lapse back into unconsciousness.  
So three times Thomas tried to explain to an agitated Joe where he was, tried for a response from the man.  
But it was no good. Joe wasn't taking in any of it.  
"It'll be all right, love. Just wake up and stay with me for a while," Thomas urged softly, taking Miller's hand in his.

 

Held between his own two hands, it was almost like they were praying.  
His head was bowed.  
His thoughts were there.  
But did God listen to the likes of him?  
Now, Thomas certainly hadn't thought so in the trenches. He'd only thought to use his own wits to get out.

 

But Joe "believed," even if Thomas no longer knew how to.  
And since Joe couldn't talk, he'd have to do it for him.  
So Thomas began to mumble the prayer his mum had taught him growing up.  
Childish thing, probably not right, but it was all he knew to say to hold back the dark of night.

\---

When Daisy came in with a tray, it was six in the morning.  
"I have tea and ginger bics for Thomas, and lemon bars for Joe," she said, trying to sound normal in spite things being anything but.  
It was an effort, but Thomas held back a snappish reply at the intrusion.  
Daisy cared for them both, after all.

 

"He tried to wake up third time an hour ago, but not since then," he said roughly.

"Joe's a strong one, Thomas, really, truly he is. It'll be all right. He'll live, you'll see."  
And Daisy put down the tray and came over to put a work calloused hand on his shoulder.  
"Mrs. Patmore's said Andy and I can stay here to help. Davey and Dolly will do just fine with the old folks for a few nights."

 

"Dilly and Dolly," came a thin whisper.  
They looked at each other a second, startled, before turning to the bed.

"Joe?" Daisy tried, tentatively. "Thomas and I need you to wake up if you can."  
If she'd heard it, too, it must not have been his imaginings.  
Thomas took a deep breath. Keep trying. There was nothing else for it. 

 

"Joe, can you wake up for me?" he reached out and put his hand on the other man's shoulder, not daring to shake it.  
"We need you to wake up."  
They got no reply, however, and the silence seemed to weigh heavy on them both. 

Giving in finally, Daisy went to pour a cup of tea for Thomas, though she doubted he'd drink it.  
Hesitating, she poured one for herself.  
It was a busy time of morning, but there was no question of her going for a bit. 

 

"Banging head."  
Joe's voice was a thin whisper, but they both caught it for sure this time.  
Daisy let the tea cups chatter down on the saucers and came back to the bed.

 

Thomas was smiling.  
"Yes, you have a headache, I'm sure. Can you open your eyes? Do you know where you are?"  
Joe seemed to try to squint his eyes open, but didn't make it much before a grimace and closing them.  
"Damned if I know."

Daisy gave a soft and delighted laughed, her eyes tearing up.  
"He'll be right soon, if he's fit to fight."  
Joe muttered, "Feel 'alf dead and y'say, it'll be right soon, he'll live."

 

"You're at the Abbey, Joe. You've been in and out all night," Thomas said.  
Joe tried to open his eyes again. "How?" he said, looking up into Thomas's delighted face.

 

"A long story, but let me know you've not lost your wits. Tell us your name and where you're at."  
"You know my name, Thomas," he said plaintively. "What game is that? My head feels like it's pounding. What did we drink last night?"  
It was the longest thing he'd said, and it seemed to be coherent for a change. 

 

Daisy's hand went to her throat, for the lump forming there.  
She and Thomas shared a look and a grin. "Well, it might be pushing it to suggest tea. Maybe a cool rag for your head?"  
"Mmm," mumbled Joe in what she took to be agreement.  
Nodding, Daisy rushed out to comply.

 

Of course, it wasn't that simple, Joe fading back out a few moments later, before Daisy could even return.  
But at least they knew it was better than it had been, had some hope it might get better yet.  
And given the long night he'd just had, Thomas was thankful for even that.

\---

"And you're sure that he was responding, not just saying a random phrase?"  
The new, young doctor might be better than Clarkson, but he was annoying Barrow just as much when he came a few hours later.  
"Ask Mrs. Parker if you don't believe I'm sensible," he bit off. "I didn't take any of the pills you left me, if that's why you think that I'm addled."

"No," Dr. Hollingsworth replied. "I just need to make sure. We don't want to jostle him over the roads if we don't need to. There's obviously been some bleeding, and we don't want to risk making it worse or having a clot break off.  
"I'm still seeing normal vital signs, so there's no imminent risk if he's trying to come round on his own."

 

"Can't you shut the bloody arse 'ole up?" came a weak voice from the left of them.  
Andy, who'd brought the doctor up, huffed softly in laughter.  
Daisy'd been right, then.  
"Dr. Arse 'ole, and, no, only you can do that," Thomas said in a soft voice back.

 

"Mr. Miller, I'm Dr. Hollingsworth. Can you tell me the date and where you are?"

"I'm at the big house being poked awake every five minutes," complained Joe with a stronger voice than they'd heard yet.  
"I'm too tired to remember the rest."

The doctor took Miller's vitals and seemed to reach a decision.  
"We'll still need to watch carefully, and in a day or so get him to hospital for some further tests. But he seems safe to rest here for a day or two, rather than risking an emergency ride."  
That said, he followed Andy out into the hall, closing the room door behind them. 

 

"I'd still like to tell you a few things to watch for, a few things I'm concerned about.  
But perhaps I should tell both you and your wife at the same time, so you both can see that it's done?"

"You should tell Mr. Barrow," Andy started, but the doctor interrupted.  
"Mr. Barrow needs rest, too. That's why I told him to 'watch carefully,' but didn't go into specifics. No reason for him to sit up imagining the worst another night. He's doing more than enough for his friend."

\---

Lady Mary slipped up to the attics with Georgie at mid day.  
Anna was sitting with the two men, Barrow finally sleeping on the second bed rather than just lying there in wait.  
The maid put her finger to her lips, but motioned that Master George could take her chair if he wished.  
Meanwhile, Anna took Lady Mary in the hall to give her as much as she knew.

 

"This doctor is a pessimistic young thing," Anna smiled. "But I suppose he wants to be thorough."

"Or use the fancy machines mama's board got him for their hospital," Lady Mary drawled.  
After all she'd seen in her life, she was not a believer in the omniscience of doctors, though she'd known a few with some sense.  
They held a companionable silence for a moment, before her ladyship went on.

 

"Barrow looks about as white as chalk." Mary searched the maid's face.  
"He isn't worse than everyone's letting on is he? I know we're worrying about the gamekeeper, but we don't want to lose Barrow in the rumpus."

"No, my lady. He just had a time of it bringing Mr. Miller back."  
"Yes, so I heard from Mr. Branson. Quite the hero," Lady Mary nodded, satisfied.  
(Carson would certainly have done the same in his youth. The thought flew through her brain.)

 

"He'll need a few days of mending so he won't scare the horses, though. Georgie said he looked like he'd been in a prize fight, and so he does."  
Mary quietly put her head in the door and motioned her son to join them in the hall.  
"See, Georgie, they'll be fine. Now we need to get on with things," she prompted. 

 

The young man frowned but nodded.  
"Thank you, Anna, and tell them downstairs that if there's a problem to let us all know immediately. No delay this time."  
Anna smiled. "Yes, Master George," she said. (How she wanted to hug him then, just like she would Johnny or Clarence.)  
"We'll tell you straight away if there's a change."


	13. Chapter 13

-  
-  
-  
The matter of Lady Rose still had the upstairs concerned.  
The Aldridges had thrown a spanner in the works, insisting that Rose should stay with them at their London house so as to be closer to where Atticus would come across when allowed.  
Lord Sinderby had ordered the house opened and aired, had already taken the train there that morning.

 

Sinderby House was mainly designed for parties, as many places in London were.  
It had grand ballrooms and small bedrooms.  
So Cora, of course, knew that it wasn't as good of a place for the children as Downton. 

"I suppose they're assuming Atticus will be along in the next week, and have business to do straight away," Robert said to his wife, trying to see some reason in the stern Lord Sinderby's decisions.  
"And he is, in truth, the one who should give the orders. We forget she isn't entirely our Rose any more."

 

"But, really, Robert," Cora said in somewhat of a pet. "All those children in a London house? Even with an extra Nanny, the man hasn't a clue."  
"You can certainly tell that Lord Sinderby had only one quiet child."

Robert laughed.  
"Are you saying our three were a handful?"

 

"I'm saying any child with a sibling needs space away from that sibling if there's to be peace in the family. And sometimes with ours, even Downton wasn't room enough.  
Lady Grantham frowned, but her wide blue eyes still held a slight bit of amusement.  
"Imagine Rose's brood hand in pocket and under Lord Sinderby's eye."

"Obviously then, he'll have her at first, and we'll get her when he realizes," Robert chuckled.  
"And if he's correct, I'll be thankful for it. Let's hope that Atticus comes straight away just as planned. Then they make the journey here together."

\---

So plans went ahead for Lady Rose's visit, though they knew now it would be delayed.  
Mrs. Mosely was interviewing for an additional Nanny to help, and with Mr. Barrow out of the mix, she'd suggested using Mr. Moseley as temporary tutor.  
(It was that or help the Crawleys hire one herself, which was certainly not her place.)  
The village schools had summers free, so her husband was agreeable with the plan.

 

However, public schools had sessions in the early summer, (which led Mr. Branson to go round the house muttering about how the upper classes made three "halves" equal one year.)  
Thus, Master George would soon have to return to Eton, and the young man was quite torn by this. 

 

On one hand, he'd found a real friend in one of the boys his age--James.  
("I have a friend James, just as you do," he'd commented to Barrow as a diversion one night. "And he's just as much ready to do devilment."  
Joe had snorted.  
"What do you know of devilment?" Barrow had asked with a frown.  
"I hear things," George had said lightly, though in truth he hadn't heard much.)

 

But it meant that the young man would have to leave with Miller only beginning to heal.  
"Gawping at me like a waxwork," the man had joked when Master George kept sneaking away to check on him. "I'm fine, lad. It does you credit, but I'm fine."

However, George liked to keep a careful eye out.  
"I'm just making sure of it," he'd said firmly back to the older man. "And when I'm sure enough, I'll stop."  
But soon, ready or not, he'd have to go.

 

As they picked up the traces and began to move on, Daniel and Mr. Mason proved helpful in the process.  
"The wild birds are like chickens, near as makes matter," the farmer said. "We'll let them loose if that's right, but we'll still scatter the feed to keep them healthy and fat."  
And thankful for the convenience of their truck, they drove over each day to do so, then drove back to the tenancy for their own labors.  
It was planting season, after all, and a farmer's work was sun to sun.

 

Yes, even with the extra load, they were all moving forward in optimism.  
Joe Miller would eventually heal.  
Lady Rose would eventually come.  
Even when things weren't at their brightest, Downton folk still took courage and believed that good would prevail in the end.

\---

"Old as I am, I'd go help them," Elsie Hughes murmured to Beryl Patmore as the two sat down to tea. "But Mr. Carson would insist on coming too, and he'd not make it up and down the stairs."  
"Stubborn, they are, husbands," Beryl agreed, sipping companionably.  
She'd come into the village to check on the B& B and to see her friend.  
It was hard on Elsie, she knew, to be so isolated now that Mr. Carson was less out of the house.

 

"Daisy says it's well enough in hand," Beryl stated, reaching with a nod for a particularly jammy bit of tart.

"Ah, but we know how short staffed they are compared to how it used to be. And I closed down those rooms myself a few years back, with some of them still left that way," her friend replied.  
"And Lady Rose's family will fill up the nursery to the top."  
Here both women shared a bit of a grin.

 

Lady Rose might gad about like a latter day flapper, but she was the mirror of Victorian motherhood when it came to numbers.  
"You'd think surely they'd stop by now," Beryl said, looking over her shoulder to make sure Mr. Carson wasn't coming to hear the off color topic.  
"One practically for every year. Blimey. I'm exhausted just with Daisy's two."

"Well, she has plenty of help, I'm sure, but we're the help when it comes to making rooms ready. Or, rather, Mrs. Moseley and Mr. Barrow are the help. And he's not fully able."

 

The two sipped a bit and considered.  
It was all well and good for the Lady to give the orders for a visit. But it was up to staff to see them happen.  
And with short staff, without the rooms already partially prepared, it looked to be a long week indeed.

 

"We've got enough on our own plates to be busy with," Beryl said.  
"I worry what rough trade sometimes comes through the B&B. It's good Annie's married now, or I'd have to hire a man to stand guard. Those outsiders cause such troubles."  
Both women nodded. People needing jobs roamed the lanes in the north now, and some had become desperate to act in ways most Englishmen wouldn't've dreamed of a few years ago.  
"Danny's a big help to Bertie, I'll give him that. Worth the food, though I think he eats his weight sometimes."

 

Elsie chuckled warmly. "Remember when Thomas came? You had to practically beat him out of the kitchen with a pin for stealing bites? Boys and men all stay hungry, it seems."

 

"And on that note, I'll tell you what's in the basket for Mr. Carson. I know you cook quite well, yourself," (here Elsie rolled her eyes.) "But I thought he might fancy a bite of mine for a change, like the old days."  
And they talked of food, and kitchen skills, and old days, until finally they'd had enough of a catch up to suit.

 

"I'd best be back," Beryl said finally, with real regret since she missed seeing her friend every day.  
But she'd seen the children off to fishing with the McGruder clan, with promises that they'd TRY to be safe. (Louis McGruder had a head on him, Beryl knew, so there wouldn't be too much trouble.)  
Still, she'd tarried long enough.

 

And there was dinner and household chores and husbands.  
Elsie nodded and saw her to the door.  
"Do come back soon, Mrs. Patmore. It always does me good to hear how you're faring."  
Forever friends these two, at any age.


	14. Chapter 14

-  
-  
-  
Joe woke up that morning to Thomas staring at him, face softened with a kind of loving he'd not willingly show.  
"Worth the bump, then?" he asked Barrow, smiling.  
"Waking up together for two weeks is a rare sort of thing."

 

"Well, not exactly together." Thomas's face smoothed itself into a more cynical smirk, though his eyes remained bright.  
"Hard to have to keep to our own bunks. If you weren't still so banged up, I wouldn't have managed it.  
"And even so..."  
His voice trailed off and one eyebrow rose in a bit of a suggestion.

"And even so, we'd lose our jobs," Joe laughed. "You're too loud in such situations--not that I dislike the enthusiasm-- but we'll wait until we're back in the cottage alone."

 

"Pfft." Thomas derided, but he knew it to be safest. Besides, Joe had still not been given the all clear. "At least I get to see you every day. That's....good."

"Yes. Very...good," Joe said, mockingly. And with a glance to the door, he dared give Thomas a kiss.  
It deepened, tender and warm, mouths opened slightly, a taste of each other left behind.  
Neither man wanted to break the embrace, but knew they must.

Joe's common sense finally rescued them. "Now, off with you. You're well enough to work, and they'll be looking for you like lost lambs."

\--- 

Now, it wore on Joe not to be out and about working himself, but he had to wait until Thursday for an appointment with Dr. Hollingsworth.  
The man wanted to do x-rays to check on the injury to his shoulder and chest, since travelling was no longer a danger to the bruised spot inside his skull. 

And since the better machine was at York--the Downton one used only for simple emergencies--the trip was to be a tiring one.

 

It had taken great talent to bruise something inside his thick head, Joe had told more than one person at the big house.  
And now he took his rather poor joke to the hospital, restless and almost chatty what with nerves.

 

Miller did not like hospitals. His parents had both died in hospitals, at separate times.  
So in Joe's mind, you only went to them in extremis, and you usually came out feet first.  
But he put on his best face, nodding affably to everyone working there.  
It wasn't their fault if he felt cursed to be near them.

 

"Can you see my heart with that thing? Do I have one?" he'd said to one rather frumpy old nurse, giving her what he hoped was a confident grin.  
She flushed and twittered. "Oh, I'm quite sure you're large hearted, Mr. Miller."  
(Even old mums need a lift and a smile, Joe thought, satisfied he'd done his part.)

But when she walked away, he slumped and frowned. He might try, but he was definitely not at his best.

\---

It was several hours later when he was finally able to duck out onto the rainy sidewalk.  
Across the way, a pub caught his eye.

And while he didn't feel like food or drink, he did need to rest a bit,  
regroup before the train ride home.  
He felt numbed and overwhelmed by the day.

"You made it out then?" A voice close behind startled him.  
Following almost on his heels was Jimmy Kent, all teeth and blue eyes, sliding languidly into the booth.  
"Thomas called and told me the time of it," Kent answered him without being needed to ask. "But it was longer than I thought."  
He motioned for a pint and looked to Miller expectantly. "Pastie? Tea?"

Joe rolled his eyes, but nodded.  
"Thought I'd messed up and missed you, but there you finally were."  
Jimmy said it matter of factly, as though it were perfectly normal for one grown man to stalk another like a hunter with an animal.

"I should have known that when Thomas 'allowed' me to go alone, he was giving in too easily," Joe said.  
He had not, however, expected this turn of events.

"Man can't take a day off to accompany a 'mate' to the doctor." Jimmy smirked derisively.  
"They'd've let someone to go with you to the village, but it was me or Danny for York."  
Jimmy nodded to the waitress and took a large sip.  
"I won."

They both chuckled slightly.  
Thomas Barrow was simply not going to leave things to chance if he could help it.

 

"You'll be glad to know I'll be back playing cards by next week," Joe said as cavalierly as he could manage. "And I expect you to come. You really need to stop ducking out on us, Jimmy."  
"We all missed you."

The statement hung there between them, demanding his refute.  
They were only friendly because of Thomas, not because of anything alike in themselves.

"Gone all soft what with your injuries, Miller?"  
Joe just smiled and didn't rise to the bait.

 

His food came and he tried to eat something, but really didn't feel like much more than a bite or two.  
It was like sawdust in his mouth.  
Tea then, sweet.  
"You are all right, aren't you?" Jimmy said in a low tone, searching Miller's face. "Thomas would have my hide if I didn't send you back all right."

Joe took a deep breath and forced some energy into his voice.  
"I'll outlive you all, Jimmy Kent. Be a man of a hundred.  
"Just figured you should be around in case I'm ever not, though. Thomas'll need someone to play with him at Pontoon.  
"And you're the easiest mark."

"I'm invincible, me," the gamekeeper continued. "It takes real talent to bruise the INSIDE of your skull."  
And they both smiled slightly at the jest.

\---

Jimmy saw Joe to the station, having made sure he was rested and had a chance at a bite to eat.  
"Tell Daisy I've a charabanc outing going from the pub near the theatre. If she and Andy can get the time, they can come fill in the corners."  
Jimmy smiled. His eyes had a few lines around them now, if you knew to carefully look.

 

"Tell him yourself at cards," Joe said gruffly. "I'll expect you there."  
And the men nodded at each other in farewell.


	15. Chapter 15

-  
-  
-  
Summer finally exploded fully, bringing a sense of bounty back to the tables in the town.  
Even if actual sales were down, they'd not know hunger that winter, as the women began preserving and laying by.

Downton's shops were still open, and for that they were thankful.  
There were enough salaries and purchases from the big house to trickle money into the registers.   
And it was cash money that was the sticking point, really.  
(Bartering could go a far way, but for some things you just had to have actual coin.)

 

Things were changing in the village, unfortunately.

The feeling of being 'pinched' caused people to behave a bit less hospitably to neighbors than they would have in the past.  
And their underlying anger was evident in village disagreements, too.  
Carson could not longer act in the capacity of Leading Citizen to quell such petty behaviors.  
Branson tried, but found himself shut out.

So it was with both relief (for the successes) and worry (for the undercurrent of hard times) that Tom Branson returned to the Abbey each night.

It was a hard role Tom played at Downton, but he kept making the effort. And he protected the Crawleys in every way he could.  


\---

For to the Crawleys, family was paramount.  
"I'm glad Rose is finally seeing reason, even if Atticus is still not coming," Lady Grantham commented to her family as they sat for dinner.  
"I don't see why he saw the need to go back to their offices, no matter what the government did. The Senderbys are beside themselves."

"His father isn't," drawled Lady Mary. "He seemed to think they shouldn't any of them leave."

  


"Well, we'll give Rose support on that decision, to be sure," Tom replied. "It's a hard man who puts business over family."

"Speaking of which, Henry will be back by Tuesday," Mary said with no small irony.  
"Now, Mary," her mother warned.   
Cora was still of the impression that it was her daughter's fault that there were any tensions in her marriage.  
And they'd all noticed the tensions by now. 

 

"Ah, papa won't be so keen. It seems Henry's back on about a factory nearby, even though we told him in no uncertain terms that we'd not sell."  
Lord Grantham looked up and glared across the table.  
"We most certainly told him we wouldn't. Why's he bringing it up again? I'll tell you now, my darling daughter, that you won't convince me to change my mind, even if you have yours."

Mary shook her head slightly. "That's just it, papa. I haven't. But he said he absolutely had to talk 'sense' to us, and is coming to do this week."

 

They all sighed slightly.  
It would be tense enough handling Rose's concerns, which they all shared.  
The family didn't need dissention in the ranks.

 

“Why does he think it necessary to bring it up again, Mary. Do you know?” Tom asked, trying to play peacemaker.  
“Oh, he's not only 'bringing it up.' He told me he'd sold Morris on the idea, as though we were all behind it, and now he needs to have us agree or he's left out on the limb.”

Mary rolled her eyes at her brother in law.  
Branson was her favorite person in the world, barring her children, but he really was naive sometimes.

 

“He's sold someone property he doesn't own?” choked out Robert incredulously. “You must have it wrong.”  
“Well, he couldn't sign the papers, obviously. That's the 'sense' he wants to talk you into. But he has gone ahead with the negotiations, in spite of both of us telling him no.”

Mary looked at her mother. She wanted to lay ALL her problems completely out flat, but that wouldn't do, no not at all.  
But perhaps this might give them a window into why she was not always the perfectly happy wife and mother that they expected every Crawley girl to be.

\---

“I wouldn't want to be Mr. Talbot,” Andy said softly to Thomas when they went into the servery between courses.

“It's his own fault if he's done what she says,” Barrow returned a bit sharply. “Even I wouldn't dare try to steal Crawley land from them—nick a bottle of wine and you're bad off enough.”

\---

Lady Rose came in with a flurry of activity the next morning.  
She didn't look a day over twenty, still smiling and energetic, a perfect face turned toward the world. 

“I know you're all worried, darlings, and I was too at first. The diplomats ran us round in circles and things just seemed to be getting worse.  
“But Atticus is still at our house, still going to the Berlin offices. He just can't break away quite yet.”

 

She said this all as she went down the line, kissing them lightly on the cheek in the European way.  
“Well, we will just have to think of some suitable punishment for him when he gets here, then,” Cora said lightly. “For making us wait.”  
And without hesitation, she smiled at Rose and took her hand gently. “But for now, you're here, and we'll have a grand time spoiling the children.”

 

From behind her, Robert laughed.  
“Oh, golly, they've been looking forward to it for ever so long,” Rose gushed.  
“And so have we,” Robert replied.

\---

Henry didn't get that same warm greeting an hour later when he made it through the doors.  
Robert looked like a thundercloud straight away, and Talbot could see that he'd been forewarned.  
“I'll go up and change, then we can talk man to man,” Henry began.

“You will not,” Robert cut in. “You will follow me now while I clarify some things for you about who exactly gets the final say in things at Downton.”

 

Robert looked ready to chew brass.  
“I may not be in my prime, but I still hold the title. And if you can't respect that, you might want to stay in your Oxford flat permanently hence forth.”

 

Turning on his heel, Lord Grantham went toward the library.  
Horace followed him, the picture of serenity.

But Talbot didn't. He wasn't sure what to say at this point.  
He wasn't sure what to do.  
So he stood there a moment, trying to figure it out, before following his father in law in.

\---

“You couldn't have expected anything different, surely,” Mary drawled to her husband as she finished putting on her gloves.  
She'd dismissed Anna so that the two of them could have a minute to themselves before going down.  
“Try to see things as they are, not how you'd like them to be.”

For the first time in a long time, Lady Mary felt some sympathy for Henry.  
Unlike his absences, unlike his coolness, this could in no way be blamed on her for being an unfit wife. So she could avoid being defensive for once.

But Henry didn't hear any kindness behind her words, just criticism.  
His head came up, and she could see his glare reflected in the mirror before her.  
“That's the answer to everything, isn't it? That we can't change how things 'are.'  
“That I have to fill my little role in your family's play and never vary the script.”

“Henry, see reason. You know we've pushed papa into schemes in the past, but in the end, he's actually had to go along. You did nothing to convince him to change his mind, and you've engineered what looks like a coup.  
She stood and approached him.  
“Downton—all of it, house, lands, and village—are what he lives for, and you've tried to sell off a piece of it.”  
“That simply isn't going to go.”

“So he said.”  
Henry stood and went to her.  
“I won't be around as much. He doesn't wish to see me at Downton.”

“Oh, really, Henry, don't be dramatic. You're not around enough for him to see as it is; that may be part of why he's so angry.”  
Mary smirked at her husband.  
“Come to dinner, and we'll all sit down and behave civilly, and soon this will all be smoothed over with wine and good manners.”

But he shook his head.  
“No, I'm going back tonight. I'll have to spend a lot of time to convince Mr. Morris that what he wants isn't going to happen. Of the two, I thought your father the more open to reason. Evidently, I was wrong.”  
And with a look more of sadness than anger, Henry picked up his keys from the bedside table and walked out the door.  
Leaving Mary alone


	16. Chapter 16

(Note: I am going with the John Griswold book to put James at Eton in 1935, rather than the young adult series which places him there in 1933. He's Georgie's age, after all, and a minor character to this, but I still thought it was funny to put him in when I saw the birthdate was the same. )  
https://books.google.com/books?id=uariyzldrJwC&pg=PA28&lpg=PA28&dq=James+Bond+1935&source=bl&ots=W5gYkpX7C8&sig=TaxFsx-Saq0bquLpBVnpWisSQNQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiLwcS48YHVAhXCQD4KHT3oChsQ6AEIVDAL#v=onepage&q=James%20Bond%201935&f=false  
-  
-  
-

 

Georgie returned that same week for summer leave, June rounding into July.  
And he expected to at least see Henry Talbot in passing, but no one mentioned either him or his absence.  
So the young man followed suit. 

Besides, George Crawley had too much on his mind these days to really miss Henry all that much, even if he wondered about it briefly for the sake of Violet and Edward. 

It might be considered self-centered of him, though Georgie wasn't really selfish at all.  
He'd just long ago stopped considering Henry as more than his mother's husband, and a rather distant satellite in his universe.

 

“Barrow, I have some questions about the war,” George began his first afternoon as he sat in the butler's office.  
They were eating biscuits and catching up, without having really said very much of substance to this point.  
“I know you don't talk about it much, but I've still got a question and, of course, Uncle didn't serve.”

 

Thomas put down his teacup and ran his fingers over a napkin, fiddled with it really.  
He would answer, of course.  
Barrow would hand the boy his heart if he asked.

“What is it you need to know?” Thomas replied quietly, fearing that they had finally come to a discussion of his blighty, branding him a coward to the boy.  
(They'd certainly covered his father's heroic service already in his earlier years.)

 

“Did you ever know any spies during the war?”  
George's face was so earnest that Barrow couldn't even laugh in relief.  
Just a young man's question then. He sighed out softly.  
“Spies? No Master George, I was just a dogsbody in the trenches, carrying stretchers. No spies that I knew of, unless the Germans trained the rats.”

 

He wished the last hadn't escaped his mouth as soon as he'd said it.  
The rats. Even mentioning them still made his skin crawl a bit.  
(Rats and mud and blood.)

Thomas shook himself slightly and rallied.  
“What has you asking about spies of all things? Did someone say there were spies in the village?”

 

The young man gave Barrow his usual brilliant smile.  
“No, my chum's uncle died over the spring when I was up here. And when he mentioned it, he said he'd found out his uncle was a spy in the Great War. It seemed unlikely that anyone who spied for Britain would have done so here instead of overseas, but I didn't want to pour water on the story.  
“His uncle recently dead, after all.”

 

“Hmmm...” Barrow picked back up his tea and took a sip.

“Well, I remember the lady's maid back then, O'Brien, saying something about they'd been warned about spies on the home front, but I took it as more a jest than reality.  
“I wouldn't say it couldn't have happened, but I don't know the truth of it myself.”

 

The two paused, letting the silence fill with the comfortable ticking of clocks.  
Mrs. Parker seemed to be fixing something delicious for dinner, George thought, distracted, as the odors wafted through.  
It was more the friend than the war that interested him, in the end.

“He also drives,” George ventured next.

 

“The spy drives?” Barrow slightly smirked at him. 

George snorted in a most inelegant fashion.  
“My friend drives. Can you teach me?”  
Barrow really couldn't help a slight chuckle at this. 

 

“That would be best done by Mr. Branson and you know it, Master George.”  
He loved the boy, but knew he needed to do what was best.  
“I'm flattered you'd trust me with it, because I know it can be a bit of a struggle at first, but I'm more the type to bang into things than teach you how to steer straight.”

 

Georgie grinned in delight.  
“You don't drive well? There's something the perfect Mr. Barrow does poorly? Impossible.”  
The boy almost crowed it, teasing his Barrow with the knowledge.

“I drove enough with ambulances in the war, just didn't take it up again much when I got back.  
“It's like anything—sports, schoolwork—you aren't as good when you don't practice.”  
Barrow tried to turn the deficiency into a lesson for the young man.

(And if driving reminded him of transporting bodies and bleeders, that he kept to himself.)

\---

“I don't mind at all,” Branson said at dinner. “Younger than you learns to drive a tractor or farm truck.”  
He took a careful portion from the tray as Andrew glided by.

“But a motor car on the roadways,” Lady Mary said with a tinge of worry.  
She didn't have to mention the thought of Matthew in her mind. 

 

“I really will be awfully careful, mama, no going like a speed demon. I just hate to have the others hold it over me that they know something I don't.”  
Georgie smiled briefly, anticipating what would happen next.

“Well, if he learns, I want to learn,” Sybbie jumped in brightly. “We can practice on the lanes in the estate, dodging deer for practice.”  
She and Rose laughed together in delight. 

 

“I learned,” Rose told Mary. “And I've the brain of a kipper. I'm sure the youngsters can do much better.”

“Hmmm....” Lady Mary frowned briefly at her son. She knew she'd lose this battle if she tried to fight it.  
Better to give in gracefully and save her ammunition for larger battles.  
“If you wish, Tom, I suppose. And now that you've got Sybbie along, too.”  
  
Mary gave her brother in law a wicked smirk.

 

Over Lady Mary's shoulder, Barrow made eye contact with Master George and nodded once.  
The boy grinned back.  
He'd won the round.

\---

At the end of service, Thomas was surprised to find Miller downstairs in the servants hall.  
“Came up for dinner?”  
This was unusual, but Joe had eaten with the staff when he was ill.

“I have an errand coming up on my half day, and I wanted to tell you that I'd not be around,” Miller replied.  
Thomas sat without taking his eyes away.  
There must be a story behind that.

 

But the others were around, and the conversation couldn't be had.  
“I'll be back before you know it,” Joe soothed in a low voice under the general noise. “His lordship knows and one of the village lads will cover me while I'm gone.”

“Besides, you'll be busy with your boy.” He raised an eyebrow at Thomas, mocking him.  
(Though Georgie was more than slightly his, too, Miller would have to admit.)

They both shared a smile at the thought.

 

In spite of requests to do so, Miller didn't stay after dinner.  
He left before Anna and Bates, even, saying he'd have to make an early go.  
Thomas was left curious, but not too much so. He'd get it out of him, soon enough, when Joe returned.

\---

The next day there was mayhem on the lanes at the back of the estate.  
Branson would need more than one drink tonight, to be sure.  


“You really mustn't grind the gears like that,” Sybbie said (not so) helpfully when George tried to go down the lane a third time.  
As with maths, Sybbie seemed to have an innate skill with driving that her cousin lacked. 

“He'll get it soon enough,” Tom soothed, knowing that the boy was at the breaking point in his patience. “And you have an unfair advantage, young lady. You've been on my lap while I drove about all those years. Something of the shifting's in your blood from back then.”

 

Georgie grinned at the girl, relieved to be off the hook.  
“You still need to not strip the gears,” she insisted, sticking her tongue out in an unladylike fashion behind her father's back.

“I'll practice until they go smoothly,” he shot back.  
He most assuredly would, for he meant to be quite capable before returning to Eton in case he was called to show his talents in front of the other boys.

\---

“I do worry about this friend of Georgie's, daring him into these pranks. Do we know his family, mama?”  
Mary was certain she could count on her mother to know every connection with every family in DeBrett's.

“I believe he said they're from Scotland, so I'm sure we have some way of finding out about them through Rose and Shrimpy,” Cora suggested.  
Even if the boy was accepted at Eton, it didn't mean there wasn't reason to check his bona fides.  
“The parents are dead, but there's bound to be people left who knew them.”

 

Lady Grantham studied her daughter's face carefully.  
She wanted to encourage her to smooth over things with Henry.  
She wanted to try to keep everything pleasant in their ranks.  
But for once, Cora held back her prodding. Mary needed her backing more than her correction.

So they sat there together, making small talk about children and schools and things of that ilk.  
Rather than separations and business and the true worries on their minds.


	17. Chapter 17

It had been a hot morning already, and promised an even warmer afternoon. So they sat a few minutes in comparative silence, enjoying the suggestion of a breeze drifting through the office door.  
Tom pulled at his collar, loosening it slightly, hating the feeling of restraint in a tie around his throat.  
He'd been years at this and still some part of him had not fully acquiesed to being styled a 'gentleman.'

“So are we to ever meet your mystery woman?” Mary teased, trying for a lightened tone. Dinner had been so uncomfortable these past few weeks, even Georgie's return for summer leave had only partially cheered her—which spoke to the depth of her wound.

Rose tried her best to distract them with gay chatter and optimism.  
The Aldridges, at least, had constant updates from Atticus. 

 

Henry Talbot, on the other hand, was being much more unforgiving and terse in his communications home.  
(Mary knew it was heartless of her to be jealous of a man in as much danger as Atticus, but there it was. He might be in danger, but he was also in love.)

At the very least, gossip about Tom's sweetheart might prove a diversion.  
“Do invite her, Tom. Please. We could use the lift.”

 

“She's not so mysterious, but I'm not ready to invite her to meet the family. With a lady, that speaks of marriage more than anything, and I'm not sure I'll ever be there.”  
Tom looked down, suddenly finding a great need to study his shoes.

Mary smiled.  
“A lady, then? Well, that's another piece of the puzzle. But surely you can tell ME who she is, even if you don't intend to bring her home for a general interrogation.”

 

Tom licked his lips and looked up, trying to decide.  
“Almeda Martin,” he finally ventured.  
“Not the Martins that mama knows?” Mary said, slightly shocked.  
The Martins were Americans, and she'd not heard of any daughter.

 

(Branson almost laughed at the expression on her face. He'd heard her mock the Martins, which was one of the reasons he'd not said anything. But only one reason, really...there were others.)  
“Indirectly,” Tom said. “She's their son's widow. An Englishwoman he married when over here for the war. She has a son and they live quite separately in her own establishment.”

 

Mary nodded. Her boy would be their heir, then, with his father dead and gone.  
And Almeda would be in charge of his inheritance.  
“You've found your own prospect, then, in spite of deriding me for my suggestions.”  
But the smile that she gave Tom took the sting from the words. 

 

“I haven't called on her for her prospects, as you should well know.  
“And the fact is, they've stayed my hand. I remember all the years I've worked to fit in at Downton. I don't need another family looking down on me.  
“And what you may not know, Mary, is the Americans like Irish even less than your people do.”

The recent riots in Belfast were in the headlines daily, making everything that much more uncomfortable for Tom.  
He'd never been back home, not since all those years ago with Sybil.  
Hadn't even returned to Boston but once, and his brother had long ago cast him off as a turncoat.

 

And he tried not to dwell on the path he'd chosen in life, knowing it was right.  
But sometimes he still felt odd man out, and the collars still felt almost tight enough to choke him.

The silence fell as Mary flipped aimlessly through their ledgers.  
She needed to say something, but she wanted it to be right. 

“Do what's best for you, Tom. It's as easy to love someone with money, but I don't want to push you into anyone who isn't entirely right.”  
“I want nothing but the best for you. Always. You should know that above all else.”  
And she looked at him with nothing but love and compassion in her eyes.

 

“I'm sorry if I did that,” Tom said hesitantly. “With Henry. I thought he was right, but recently...” And his voice drifted off. 

 

“At least you don't blame me,” Mary said. “Everyone else does, you know. Papa can tell Henry outright he doesn't want to see him, but somehow it's my fault he goes without it being patched up.”  
She fanned herself slightly.

“But you shouldn't blame yourself either. I should have listened to my fears all those years ago. Sometimes even a wonderful prospect isn't right.”

 

Tom nodded.  
He felt the same thing over the years as every 'wonderful prospect' had proven wrong.  
But it was a gloomy thought and they needed to push it aside and get back to work.

So he leaned over, turning the ledger toward him.  
“Let's set these books to right, and at least we'll be happy about that well done.”

\---

Meanwhile at the big house, a ringing telephone brought Mr. Barrow back to his office from the hall.  
He answered it smartly and wrote out a message as he listened.  
A smile skittered across his face before he could catch himself.  
“Thank you, I'll see that Lord Grantham gets word immediately.”

 

Barrow folded the paper and quickly went to fetch a tray on which to carry it upstairs himself.  
The family would want to see this double quick.  
“He's back,” Thomas called to Daisy as he went by. “Mr. Aldridge is back and coming within the week.”

Then he climbed the stairs two at a time to get the message to the earl.

 

Now when Robert went upstairs to find Rose and inform her, he wasn't prepared for her reaction, though of course he should have done.  
The young woman who had put such a brave face on for the last weeks dissolved completely upon hearing the good news. 

“Oh, thank God. Oh, I'm sorry, but I just can't,” and she began to cry in earnest.  
And Robert, never one to be good with emotions, patted her and suggested tea.  
This, however, only added a somewhat hysterical giggle to the downpour.  
“Yes, tea. We've been drinking quite a lot of tea these weeks, might as well drink some now.”

"Tea," Rose said her voice breaking between a fit of laughter and tears again.

 

“I'll ring for some and go get Cora. She and the girls will want to hear,” Robert said as he angled for the door.

\---

“They'll switch from tea to champagne soon enough,” Thomas noted drily to Andy as he went by with the tray. “Best get it all ready as we go.”

“Happy for them, though,” Andy called back over his shoulder. “We can use the good news.”

“The children will be excited, sweet things,” Mrs. Moseley said as she came down the hall. “I'll go up and tell Mr. Moseley so that he's prepared for the uproar.”

\---

It had been quite a long and happy day of it, indeed.  
Everyone downstairs loved Lady Rose and felt like they had received good news of their own.  
Luncheon became a feast, and dinner even more festive with the addition of Isobel and Dickie, who'd come up with congratulations of their own.

Exhausted. They were all quite exhausted with the joy of it.

 

“I'm surprised you didn't cancel out on us, with the upstairs lot awake this late,” Jimmy commented as they gathered around the table in the servants hall.  
With Miller still absent, they'd moved themselves there for their game.  
Cards and bottles were at the ready. A platter of food far superior to their usual 'bachelors fare' had been provided by Daisy.

 

“Can't keep a good man down,” Andy said drolly. “Just as long as we get a few hours kip before we start again. Too old to go completely without.”  
They chuckled, slightly. 

“Speak for yourself,” Jimmy smiled. “I'm just a youngster yet.”  
But they heckled him for the comment.

 

Old Pip and Samuelson weren't with them that night, which did make it a 'younger' crowd than usual.  
Mr. Pipwick had bronchitis and Samuelson hadn't thought to leave him alone.  
“Amazing Pip's still with us at his age. Still like an ox though, at least on most days,” Andy nodded as the cards were dealt and he picked them up.

“You can't tell he's an old man most days, but still it's bound to be annoying for him to be laid up. It certainly was for Joe,” Thomas said, nodding and motioning for another card.  
“Being ill and dependent isn't something anyone likes.”

 

“But like I said, we're all just youngsters. Why looking at those two we can see it. Another twenty or thirty good years before we begin to wear down.”  
Jimmy expertly flipped the cards. Bets placed. Call. 

 

“Your lips to God's ears,” Andy commented. “We'll be old men playing around this table some day.”  
Barrow laughed.  
“And you'll still be rubbish at cards, won't you, Andy,” he said and took the hand.


	18. Chapter 18

-  
-  
-

Atticus Aldridge had arrived in London sorely the worse for wear.  
The frustrations of the weeks apart from Rose and the children had left him thinner than normal, with a perpetually worried frown.  
Even seeing his parents didn't rid him of it, for he knew he'd failed in the task his father had set him.

 

“They didn't mind letting Rose leave, nor the children,” he explained to Lord Sinderby when they were finally in the drawing room of Aldridge House. “They may even have welcomed it.”  
“But I still hadn't finished putting all the pieces of the business back together. And they wanted it to be at its best before they stole it all away.”  
“I can see that now, looking back.”

 

A muscle in his jaw worked as he clenched it, determined not to give into any emotional displays.  
He was a man, damn it.  
And moreover, he in front of his father who would brook no such weakness.

His mother came behind him and softly gave him an embrace.  
“Don't think on it, Atticus. As long as you're all right, then everything is as it ought to be.”

 

Lord Sinderby scoffed and walked past ramrod straight, a soldier on parade.  
“They lost the war to us.  
“How can they turn that around to be the ones in charge?”  
“Perhaps with more time, or a more forceful legal argument....”

Atticus sighed and eased himself into a seat.  
He had forgotten how to relax, he realized wryly.  
Soft cushions, no threats, Atticus bit his lip. (Soon he'd be in Rose's arms again.)

 

He closed his eyes for a moment before answering.  
“Father, I'm not sure this new government cares too much about details. They seem to be changing the rules as they go to suit themselves.”  
“I did my best. But things were getting much too dangerous to stay and keep fighting what was assuredly a losing battle.”  
The footman came with a drink, which Atticus gratefully accepted.  
So wonderful to be back.

 

“You didn't see them, little pumped up shop owners now in charge of our lives. They are quite mad with the power of it.”  
“And madmen don't exactly listen to reason.”

His attempt at humor didn't amuse Lord Sinderby.  
“Our family built itself back up after the pogroms, so I think I know what it is to deal with madmen.”

 

Lady Sinderby rolled her eyes angrily at her husband.  
“Ah, but you were a child back then, dear. Those were really your father's stories, not yours.”  
She turned smoothly and gentled her voice for her son.  
“I'm so glad you decided sensibly, Atticus. Why it's better we have you safe and everything else lost than the opposite.”  
“It was horrible having to wait while you fought through this last delay.”

 

But over by the fireplace, Lord Sinderby huffed in irritation.  
He felt the business loss more than his wife, cared more about their standing in the community than his wife.  
The old man blew an angry breath out.

Still, when it came down to it, he enjoyed money, but he LOVED his son.  
“Yes, well, I'm sure you did what you could,” he offered finally.

 

Atticus nodded, relieved.  
“It's truly a nightmare over there, and I'm afraid it's going to get worse.”  
He hesitated, not wanting to say the next in front of his mother, but knowing she wasn't leaving his side any time soon.

“Mr. Hausdorf is dead. I suppose Rose told you that much.”  
His parents nodded.  
“What she didn't tell you, because she didn't know. was that he in all probability died because of speaking out in our favor.”

He studied his drink for a moment, used his thumb to trace the condensation on the glass.

 

“Rose had a disagreement with a shopkeeper, but we were still going to stay and finish things. It was just one more insult in a cavalcade of insults by the people there.  
“But she mentioned it to the butler, because Hausdorf seemed more a part of our family than a servant.”  
Atticus hesitated and took another long drink before he went on. 

“All I know is that the man was dead the next morning. I suspect that he must have gone out and tried to defend us to the shopkeeper or report him to the authorities.”

 

“Maybe he just got into his own unfortunate situation,” Lord Sinderby tutted. 

“No, father. Hausdorf was German and a Lutheran. His only connection to Jews was our family.  
“What Rose doesn't know is the condition he was in when they found him, what was left with his body...messages obviously meant to frighten her and the children away.”

 

Atticus looked directly into his father's eyes.  
“I was going to stay until the work was done, but that changed things.  
“We had to leave. Immediately. And then when they held my papers, I thought my time was up, too. I truly had a moment when I thought I might be next.

He paused.

“But the authorities just needed me to finish my work, apparently. To have everything in order before they stole it all away."  
With one long last sip, he swallowed the end of his drink down.  
"Fortunately that was all. Or unfortunately....since I had to sign over everything to buy my way out.”

 

“And you're home safely now,” his mother said gently, giving him a hug.  
“And I'm sure your father appreciates everything.”  
She looked up at her husband, prompting him with expressive eyes.

 

“I do, my boy. I do,” the older man said in an almost guilty tone.  
He was far too old fashioned to give the boy a hug, but he offered his hand to shake.  
“No more talk of business for today. We'll make a day of it before we send you north to your Rose,” Lord Sinderby said.  
“I'm sure they have festivities galore in store for you, and you can have a visit with her people before going to Canningford. We'll have the house open in a week at most.”

Atticus nodded to his parents, grateful for their understanding. 

His father's acceptance, especially, meant the world, for he knew he'd let the man down.  
But this Hitler was quite hard to appease.

 

\---

In a drawing room not too far away, the Pellhams were also trying to figure out how to best protect their family's interests.  
And even though it wasn't life or death by any means, it was critical to the way of life they knew.

 

If it were just themselves and Marigold, Bertie was sure that they'd tell the girl and risk another generation handling the 'secret' with discretion.  
But it was now two children in the balance. Young Robert's future would also hinge on his mother's acceptance in society.  
And the past wretched decade had shown everyone how tenuous their grip on status could be.

 

“Marigold is getting on quite well in London,” Lady Rosamund commented to her niece, after waving the butler from the room.

Edith and Bertie had visited her London house, taking tea and advice in equal measures.  
“I think she'll have a perfectly normal coming out in the perfectly normal course of events.  
“Why she's the adopted daughter of the Marquis of Hexham. How can that fail to impress?”  
The older lady made it sound like an absolute decree. 

 

Edith leaned forward, putting down her cup.  
“You don't think it's a worry, then? That we need to do extra?”

 

Bertie smiled at his wife, then her aunt.  
“I've tried for weeks now to tell her not to pay Mary's comments much mind, to let them go.  
“But, of course, Marigold is very special to us, so we'll do whatever it takes.”

 

Rosamund nodded.  
“You're right to hold onto the secret. It would do her no good to know, and it might very well do her harm.  
“She has a good place in life, a proper role.  
“It's all in the appearance of the thing, more than the reality. And we'll make sure to keep appearances up.”

 

Edith smiled at her aunt.  
Rosamund, among all the family, had the greatest wealth.  
Everyone else might be surviving the decade, but Rosamund had somehow managed to thrive in it, sitting on top of an empire left by her husband all those years before.

She was a great ally, Edith knew.  
And she'd always loved her niece without reservation, even when times were bad.

 

“I knew you'd help. Thank you for that.”  
And the two women exchanged smiles.  
Why, thought Rosamund, if I had a child....it would be Edith I'd choose.

When times were difficult, you simply had to have courage.  
Take a clear direction and push your way through.  
Lady Rosamund would see that things were put right.


	19. Chapter 19

-  
-  
-  
“There'll be quite a palaver this week, but we'll be back to normal soon,” Anna concluded as she gathered up her boys.  
“It's been fun with the Aldridges there,” Clarence piped up, eyes on his mother as he finished tying his laces.  
“It's been noisy,” laughed Johnny, who at three years older tried to always take the 'adult' perspective...though frequently failing.

“I'm sure it's been both,” Anna agreed, smiling at the boys and her husband.

 

“I'll act as valet to Mr. Aldridge as well as his lordship for the week, so it will be more to do, but no one can be anything less than joyous that he's back,” Bates said quietly.  
Lord Grantham had shared with him concerns and news from the other country as the attempts to get the Sinderby heir back home continued. 

 

Anna nodded.  
“Well, you boys do your best to behave like proper gentlemen. Even if everyone else is overly excited.  
“They haven't seen their daddy for weeks, so things might be a bit bumpy in the nursery.  
“Don't add to it.”

 

And with that, the Bates family set out walking down the path.  
It was far enough that Clarey's legs would get a stretch, but both boys had energy enough to make a go of it.  
Besides, petrol was another expense to be watched, and fixing up an ancient vehicle was tricky, even if Mr. Branson did the labor of it.

The Bates family liked to pay their own way as a point of pride.

 

Anna and Mr. Bates held hands as they walked up the lane.  
It was very green and leafy, cool in the morning. And with the sound of the boys echoing through, nothing could have made them feel more at peace with the world.

“How wonderful it is,” Anna thought. “How wonderful our lives have turned out. The boys are such clever fellows, they'll do well when they grow. And Mr. Bates....”  
She smiled up at her husband.

 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, seeing the look.  
“Just how lucky we've been,” Anna said.  
“You should have had silks and a mansion,” he said smiling back. “Instead of a poor man like me.”

“I'll have you not speak ill of my husband, if you please sir.”  
Anna grinned even more and blushed. She loved him so deeply, had waited for him when everything seemed hopeless.  
That's why she felt so for Lady Rose. Understood her completely in spite of their difference in rank.  
Anna knew what it was to try to hold on tight when everything around you seemed dark.

 

Suddenly stopping, she stood on her toes and kissed her husband hard on the mouth.  
Her arms went naturally around his neck and she planted one more quick kiss against his jaw before whispering into his ear.  
“I love you, John Bates. Don't you ever forget it.”

 

Bates laughed softly in delight.  
“Why Mrs. Bates, you naughty girl.”  
And his free arm went round her waist as he kissed her back. What a remarkable woman to still love an old codger like him.

In the distance they could hear the boys calling back and forth about some new discovery.  
Perfect.  
They were perfect.

\---

Later at the Abbey, the mid-morning silence of the library was closing in on Mary.

The alternative, however, would have been to go with her parents and Rose to the station.  
All those children. And Rose acted like it was nothing in the world to take them all with their nannies to greet Atticus.  
Really. The noise and confusion couldn't be stood. 

But it was almost too quiet now. 

 

Her eyesight was going a bit soft around the edges, Lady Mary noticed as she squinted at the clock.  
Give it another year and she'd need glasses to do the estate ledgers. 

It was an absurd thought, worse than being manager even: A lady in glasses?  
No one in her mother's generation would have admitted to wearing them, though Mary was sure a few did in private.  
Otherwise, there wouldn't be so many eye specialists in London.

 

Thankfully, Mary had never been particularly bookish, unlike Edith.  
She read what she needed to get jobs done.  
But as for sitting around reading novels or histories, well, she'd leave that to her sister and father.  
Instead of books, she just ran her memories past to smile at or to sigh.

 

And, of course, she had a life to distract her, a very full one, and with which she was very much engaged.  
Today, taking time away from estate matters to see Atticus home was part of that.  
The family needed to be there for one another.  
Family business was the most important part of business.

It was a reason that Henry had slipped so far out of favor over the years.

 

Mary sighed lightly at the thought.  
There needed to be a solution to that, eventually. Though she had heard of people of their station living lives quite separately, while still being politely married.  
But she'd hoped for so much more than soldiering on and never accepting defeat.

Especially when she saw couples like Rose and Atticus (or even Edith and Bertie.)

 

Her parents had certainly shown them all by example how to run a good marriage, so there was no one to blame but herself.  
And Henry, Mary reminded herself.  
Other people might put the entire problem onto her, but she had to remember that Henry could find a solution, too, if he wanted.

Mary squinted at the clock again.  
Maybe a walk before Atticus arrived?  
She would still be easily retrieved by Andrew if he came when she was out walking the paths.  
And a nice sit on Matthew's bench always served to bring her spirits up.

Waving a fan to cool herself, Lady Mary went outside to relax.

  

\---

“Well I see everyone's at full speed,” Joe commented softly as Daisy stirred round the kitchen.  
“Mr. Barrow's not even in his office and you look like a dervish.”

“He's upstairs double checking the rooms with Mrs. Moseley, and I'm trying to turn out a luncheon with half my grocery order wrong.  
“Old Mr. Bakewell needs to take back charge of the shop.”  
Daisy looked fit to be tied with frustration.  
(Or fit to tie up the Bakewell boy, Miller thought with amusement. Light his toes on fire with matches.)

 

“I'll not be a bother then,” he said, smiling. “Unless you need me to pick up something?”

“No, I've already called down to tell them the problem and they're supposed to make it up 'soon as they best possibly can.'”  
The last came out in such perfect mimcry of Theodore Bakewell slight stammer, that Joe had to laugh at it.  
“Heaven help the man. Don't kill him today. You'd have to bury the body with everyone too busy to help.”

 

“Go on with you,” Daisy motioned, shooing him out the door.  
But on her face, she had a smile.  
Daisy did so like Joe Miller. He was a good man, really truly he was.

 

But, of course, the best man of all was her Andy.  
Daisy really was in a frazzle this morning, what with Lady Grantham wanting dishes they hadn't served in years.

So she knew her temper was getting the best of her, but Andy just kept the morning on even footing.  
The children had been jollied up, along with Mrs. Patmore.  
Mr. Mason gravely listened to as he told another old farmer's tale.  
Daniel praised until he felt useful for his labors.  
Daisy soothed. 

 

Andy was sweet and gentle and very good at managing the people at Yew Tree, Daisy realized. (The Abbey, too.)  
He kept them all going straight.  
What would it have been like if she'd not have married him all those years back?

"Thank heavens Thomas talked some sense into me," she muttered to herself.  
But she needed to stop woolgathering and move on.  
The food didn't cook itself, and with these menus and still short staffed, Daisy would have a long week ahead before it ended.

But they were still very glad to have the mess, since it meant the Aldridges home  
and a happy couple reunited.


	20. Chapter 20

-  
-  
-  
Joseph Moseley stood staring in the mirror. Only his reflection frowned back at him, and it gave him no reply.  
He really didn't know what to say to his lordship.

Moseley had most recently been helping out as footman, though the job was finally over with the Aldridge's departure this week.  
Thank heavens, Moseley thought. 

 

He hadn't wanted to break his connection with the big house back in the days when he first started teaching.   
However, as he became more sure of himself at the school—as well as absolutely sure of not losing touch with Phyllis—he'd realized he'd no longer really cared for service.

 

He stayed in the gatehouse only because his salary as a teacher barely stretched far enough for his other bills.   
The salary originally also included a house in town, but that benefit had been cut without a commensurate raise in pay.   
So Moseley had agreed to tutor once a week for the privilege of fixing up the abandoned building. (Been thankful for it, truth be told. It kept a roof over their heads.)

Phyllis added hours at the Abbey, and probably should by rights have had living quarters granted to them. The Bates family had. The Carsons.

 

But it wasn't worth a dispute.   
They all had their parts to play, and Moseley enjoyed tutoring well enough, as long as it was once a week. 

 

This summer, though, had been difficult.   
Helping his wife by filling in far more than he wanted.  
Still, even this wasn't what had him practicing in front of his mirror for a confrontation.  
A confrontation that he really didn't know how to handle. 

 

Moseley had been trying to write a history of the Crawley family in his spare time.   
Obviously this summer, the project had slowed to a near stop.   
And Lord Grantham, therefore, had taken it upon himself to look over some of Moseley's earlier drafts and pen some suggestions.

 

Now the sources were all from his lordship's own libraries.   
Family papers, earlier genealogies, photographs even.  
And facts were facts, simple enough to arrange and clearly write down as a story. 

 

Joseph had reveled in it, really, not only seeing the historic documents, but touching them, smelling them as he cracked open volumes that hadn't seen light for a hundred years or more.  
He'd been a careful and considerate scholar about the work. 

 

The problem was that Lord Grantham apparently saw the project as more of a vanity piece.   
His suggested 'corrections' were actually misinterpretations of facts or flat out embellishments.   
And the third earl's story of disaster? Edited down to only a page that said less than nothing except the matter of his birth, marriage, offspring, and death.

 

All last week as the house was in an uproar, Moseley stood playing footman with his mind straying elsewhere.   
He was used to being respected now.   
He wasn't 'just' a servant now—though he knew that job honorable and wouldn't be able to explain to his wife how he felt.   
(Besides head housekeeper and footman were hardly in the same realm.)

 

As a teacher in the village, the children rose when he entered.   
They and their parents called him “mister.”   
(And even nicknames given him behind his back weren't mean spirited...just something children gave someone with whom they had familiarity and affection. He'd done it himself as a lad.)

 

Did he dare try to curb Lord Grantham from editing the truth out of the history?  
Should he flat out stop helping when they both enjoyed it and found it valuable work?  
It was  
a ticklish situation.

Joseph Moseley hated conflict and had always tried to avoid it.   
But he wasn't without his pride.  
As he stared into the mirror, he tried to practice ways to preserve both his dignity and his lordship's.   
But his mirror only reflected back an aging man with a kind face and worried eyes.

\---

“I really feel like I need to do something,” Lord Grantham said to Bates.  
“It's just such a ticklish situation with Henry Talbot. But perhaps if I go down to sit with the Lords, I can engineer some sort of casual encounter around town.”

“I'm not sure what you mean, my lord, but if you wish to go up to London, we can certainly make the trip,” Bates smiled.   
More than likely, his lordship wanted the trip as much as the project, for even though he worried about Lady Mary's marriage, he hadn't done anything about it himself in all this time.

 

“Hmmm....well, Moseley is working on our family history, too, and Rosamund has some of papa's things that might be of use. Doubtful, but they might.”  
“But the main thing is Henry. I've just got to figure out how to see him without it seeming arranged.”  
Robert smiled.   
“Lady Mary got a letter from him, at least, so we know what he's doing these days. It's not quite the needle in the haystack.”

“If you say so, my lord,” Bates said dubiously, but smiling back at the man.

 

“And a few of my friends at the club are regular old women when it comes to gossip, so there's that,” Robert added thoughtfully.   
Bates chuckled slightly.   
“I'm sure you'll get it arranged, my lord, if you decide it's for the best.”

“Confidence. That's the ticket,” exclaimed the earl, smiling back.   
And if it didn't work, at least they'd visit the club and have a trip out of it.

\---

“You found evidence the third earl did what?” Phyllis asked her husband as he tried to explain the situation with his research.  
“Well, of course Lord Grantham wouldn't want that in print, nor even in a collection of notes. I'm surprised he didn't burn the thing.”

Joseph was surprised at his wife's reply.   
“Is that his only change, then? To trim those few pages down? Because that's not untruthful.” Phyllis sat, looking at him expectantly.  
“Well, no, there were other changes. Words, here and there,” he felt he was bumbling it.  
“It just made them seem more grand.”

 

“Well, they are fairly grand,” Phyllis said, smiling softly. “Why don't you bring up your concerns, then concede on the section about the third earl. That way he knows he's in charge, but will listen to the rest?”

 

It seemed a plan, thought Joseph sensibly.  
And though it was a good story, he was sure there were others who could tell it better than a simple geneology book by him.  
Getting rid of the purple prose in the rest was more important for now.  
The Moseleys smiled at one another as he nodded.  
Lord Grantham was a fair man. It would work out right.

\---

Henry Talbot was quite taken aback a few days later when he'd seen his father in law coming toward him at the Ritz.  
They hadn't spoken since that evening when Robert had told him point blank to leave.  
And though Mary had told her husband that it was hyperbole, Henry still felt the sting.

“Robert,” he inclined his head to the older man. “I'm surprised to see you here instead of at your club.”

 

“Oh, I'm not staying, just dining,” Lord Grantham replied, trying to strike a friendly tone but missing by a mile.  
“And who's this?”

A young woman had come up to stand by Henry, obviously waiting.  
Talbot looked pained to be talking to Robert and certainly pained to be making introductions.  
“May I present my assistant, Emily Watkins?”

 

The girl smiled up at the older gentleman.  
“Emily, this is Lord Grantham.”  
“His father in law,” added Robert, just to be clear.

“Oh, pleased to meet you,” the blond said, blushing lightly. “The man we work for is a baron, but I don't meet many earls.”   
She tried on a smile but it seemed to die from nerves.  
But nervous over his title or nervous over him being Henry's father in law?  
Robert suddenly was not so sure an attempt at reconciliation was the best thing for the agenda that night. 

 

“Well, I must be getting on,” he said after a moment's hesitation.  
“We would welcome a trip up when you can, Henry.”  
And that was as far as he would open the door for tonight.

 

Talbot nodded, but said nothing.  
He had a tight sour smile on his face.   
The fact that his father in law was 'inviting him back' was not lost on the younger man.  
But, frankly, he wasn't ready to go.

Earls weren't the only ones with pride.


	21. Chapter 21

-  
-  
-  
The US Neutrality Acts had Harold Levinson in a fit.  
When Robert stopped by his establishment to take luncheon, he'd expected an hour of obligatory conversation after the fact, then back to his fun, duty done. 

But now he realized that Harold might well be right, and that England was looking to be in that much more of a precarious position should they need to go to war. 

 

“I know why the President's done it, but I still can't believe it,” Cora's brother said loudly.  
(Everything about the man was loud. Brash. American in spite of years of polishing by his wife.)  
“I know the Republicans wanted it to protect business, but for FDR to sign it. Well, he certainly surprised me on that.”

“And as an American businessman aren't you on the wrong side?” Robert asked gamely trying to figure out politics in the States (and failing.)

 

“Not when it looks like England might be facing another war, and we can't count on US support.  
“What if Germany were to invade France tomorrow? Wouldn't England fight? I know everyone's trying to keep the peace, but if Germany just outright attacked, wouldn't you have to pitch in?”  
Grantham nodded slightly as he smoked his cigar.  
“Well, this has Roosevelt's hands tied, and he knows it. Yet he signed the thing.”

 

Harold stalked across the room. “It won't help my business if I get a bomb through my house.  
“Maybe Madeleine and I should go back to Newport until the diplomats sort things out...but then, again, maybe we, as businessmen, might do better at the sorting than the politicians.”

Harold slammed his glass down on the delicate table and reached for a decanter.  
“That sister of yours is a pistol,” he rasped out, taking more to drink.  
(Robert was almost used to abrupt changes of conversation at this point in dealing with Harold.)  
“Well, yes,” he admitted quietly chuckling. “What did Rosamund do?”

 

“She didn't like it that I gave Edith stock advice. Called me 'grubby' or 'trumped up' or something like that.  
“As though it's a bad thing to take charge of your own finances. Would have thought the crash had made people a little less likely to just hand over the reins to some 'advisor.'”

Robert nodded, saying little.  
He'd always tried to keep a watch on things himself, but still hadn't had much success.

 

“You know if we do go back to Newport, you and Cora are welcome. And the rest of the family.  
“She might even enjoy seeing the old place—Cora, that is.  
“I haven't changed it a bit since mother died.”

Robert smiled sympathetically. “We'll probably stay put, but I do appreciate the offer, Harold. I might should be getting on....”

 

“Never thought the old girl would die,” Levinson said, for the first time sitting down across from his brother in law.  
Planting himself there and showing every bit of his age.

“Odd being the ones leading the pack. I mean, I did all the same business before, but I always knew she'd be there to tell me just exactly what I'd done wrong.  
“And there was always something.” 

“A woman of strong opinions, Martha,” ventured Robert with another smile.

 

“Yours, too,” Harold gave a braying laugh.  
“Here's too them,” and he raised a glass before swallowing the entire thing in a gulp.  
“But I know you've got to get going back to your business, as I do to mine.  
“Good talking to you, Robert. Kiss Cora for me.”

“Thank you, Harold. And a pleasant day to you and Madeleine.”  
Gratefully, Robert rose and departed, a bit exhausted, though he wasn't sure why.

\---

Lord Grantham made his way slowly back to the club.  
London traffic was absolutely atrocious these days, he thought.  
Blasted motor cars. The streets were filled with their noise and the stench of exhaust.  
  
The old man sighed.  
Earlier in the day he'd seen reports of an automobile accident by one of the peers, de Clifford, and was anxious to hear the news.  
  
It sounded like the other man might be mortally wounded.  
Not here. Somewhere? (Robert searched his memory, but couldn't recollect the fact.)  
Poor boy was too young for such problems, and now they'd have to hold some sort of court in the House of Lords. 

 

The last time that happened was Russell and his bigamy, Robert thought with a rather dry chuckle.  
Unhappy marriages and fast drivers. Those two topics were unfortunately cropping up in Lord Grantham's mind these days.

But it would be a row among the assembly to set the trial in motion.  
Or did anyone even remember that it had to be done?  
At least he wanted to hear the story of it all, Robert thought as he moved slowly back the way he came.

 

\---

“Were you aware of your father's intentions?” Henry said harshly over the wire.  
Lady Mary sat in her office, slowly lacing the telephone cord back and forth through her fingers. 

“No, Henry, I don't have papa on quite the leash everyone thinks,” she replied tartly before immediately regretting the tone.  
“But it was good of him to make the first move to patch things over.” (She tried the last more softly, trying to sound again like some blushing bride.)

 

She knew that her father wanted what was in her best interests, and she'd give Henry another chance if she could.  
“Violet and Edward would love to see you, too,” she said added, making what might be her best gambit.  
“You can move down here if you'd like,” Henry said. “There's nothing to say you have to stay at Downton.”

“Only my job at the estate, and my son as the heir. Only the fact that if I'm anywhere else with you, you'll still have to travel out.  
“Be reasonable, Henry.” Again, the tone came out harsher than the words. 

 

“I am reasonable, Mary. I've been quite reasonable all these years, and I still get treated like one of the staff.”  
The phone slammed down on the other end.  
Lady Mary held her receiver for a moment, staring at it.  
Had he actually just hung up on her?

Well, that certainly hadn't gone as papa evidently planned.

\---

“Did you have a good day, my lord?” Bates asked as he changed Lord Grantham for bed that night.

“Well, I set myself a hard few tasks yesterday and today, and I've accomplished them.” Robert smiled. “I may or may not have had success, but it always makes one feel better for having completed the tasks set.”

And he went off peacefully to a good night's sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

-  
-  
-  
The early morning sun glittered off the crack in the window, and warmed the air in the lesson room.  
Clarence Bates was far more interested in a spider weaving its lace web just outside, to be sure, than in anything Mr. Bailey had in mind. 

The six year old was sick of books.  
They'd had more of a break when Mr. Moseley had them at it. (Truly, when the Aldridge family was in residence, things were ballyhoo.)

 

Now even George was going away, though, back to Eton. 

And they'd be left a small group of weary travellers with Mr. Bailey droning on.  
Clarey felt the boredom creeping in and tangling him like a fly in the spider's web.   
He must escape somehow.  
And he might as well try to do so today.

 

“Mr. Bailey,” Clarey interjected when the man finally paused to take a breath.   
“Mr. Bailey, please?”  
The others giggled lightly under their breaths as the tutor looked annoyed. 

 

“I'm not feeling well, Mr. Bailey. I think something's got me gippy,” Clarey said, looking up all innocent and wide eyed.   
(Johnny might have their father's brooding handsomeness, but Clarey had his mother's expressive eyes and charm.)  
His brother looked at him side-eyed and smirked.

“I'm afraid I'll sick up all over,” Clarey continued, trying to sound as though the act were imminent and reckoned to be explosive. 

 

“Well, er, yes,” the tutor tutted. “Go and have a lie down and don't make us all ill.”  
“Maybe I should go with...” his brother started to volunteer, before being glared at by the tutor.   
“Don't take me for a fool, John Bates. Sit down now.”  
And with a brief backward look of triumph to Johnny, Clarence allowed himself meekly to be pushed out of the room.   
He kept his head down and his hand on his belly until he was sure to be out of eyesight. 

And then, sturdy and strong, he ran.

\---

He could go down to the kitchen and play sick for Mrs. Parker or hide in with Mr. Barrow, but Clarence knew either one of them would see the truth of it short enough.  
Violet would be allowed to get away with it.   
(Maybe Edward, though he'd never tried.)

But when it was him or Johnny, the downstairs staff invariably mentioned the matter to Anna, and so her boys were sent back up.

 

No, not just downstairs, then.   
He'd not be able to be 'sick' for more than a bit, and he really, absolutely NEEDED an adventure before being wrapped up by a web of lessons again.

 

It would be worth a punishment, Clarence was sure.  
And, besides, the day was so sunny and blue sky.   
Who could even think of consequences when the weather smiled like that?  
The boy sneaked out the side door, and hugged the wall. 

 

Now, if their tutor had looked out the window, he'd have a straight shot of seeing Clarence Bates at any moment.   
But Mr. Bailey was deeply involved in explaining the Civil War and had no time for sunshine gazing.   
On the other hand, Edward Talbot was not so involved.   
So when Clarey finally darted out and climbed into the back of the gardener's truck, Edward gave a little “eep” of surprise.

And everyone in the lesson room turned to stare.   
“Do you have something to add, Master Edward?” Bailey intoned, managing to sound obsequious but look irritated.  
Edward was quite cowed by the man's glare. “No, Mr. Bailey,” he stammered out. 

 

Violet rolled her eyes and looked at Johnny.   
The boys probably had some grand plan to play sick and leave her on her own with the work.  
Silly boys.  
Didn't they know that her brother was absolutely no actor?  
She was.

 

So when the morning (finally) ended and Nanny came to collect them for luncheon, it was Violet who embroidered the story just enough, adding that the tutor had told Clarence to go lie down, but not to go down to his mother.  
“Honestly, new men,” the Nanny had sighed under her breath, confirming for Violet her impression that the two servants did not see eye to eye. 

“It probably will get everyone in trouble when Mrs. Bates finds out,” Violet said complacently, planting the thought in the Nanny's mind. “I suppose you simply must tell?”   
And the young girl looked up from beneath her lashes as though begging a favor for Clarence.  
(Don't say anything, Violet thought forcefully. Let Bailey get caught out.)

 

“Ah, well, the poor boy probably needed a lie down at that,” the Nanny commented as they settled in to their feast.   
“More for us,” she smiled. 

And Violet smiled back, and turned to smile especially at the boys.   
See? She was better than they were at such things.  
They really should never forget.

\---

Meanwhile, Clarence already had finished quite a ride on the gardener's truck.   
Bouncing and jouncing about, they'd reached the village, where the gardener was picking up a delivery at the station. 

Trains!

The six year old loved trains.   
They'd taken several trips on them, and every time it was an exciting adventure.   
Just the thing!

So he brushed himself up acceptably. (Mother always was on him to look his best.)  
And he went forward in hopes of asking the conductor to let him blow the whistle.   
Edward got to do that once.  
And Clarey had been quite jealous ever since. 

 

Of course, the train started.  
And with a bit of a jolt, Clarence Bates was off on his exciting adventure for real.

\---

Nanny quietly went through her part of the nursery, making sure that she didn't have the little boy in her charge without knowing.  
There were several rooms in their section of the mansion, and she looked through them all, casually, though, since she was not alarmed.   
No, Clarence Bates had not gone for his lie down anywhere for which she was responsible. 

 

Hopefully, the lad had known himself to go downstairs to his mother or Barrow.  
But if not, what a fool the tutor was to not make sure of his orders being carried out.   
Yet she wasn't going to question him, oh no.   
The man had acted most superior the last time she'd tried to help him out.

The Nanny grinned.   
It was just as equally likely that Clarey was holed up somewhere with Horse or even outside teasing the kitchen cat.   
And wouldn't that fry things with Mrs. Bates?  
She chuckled at the thought. 

\---

Tickets!  
Clarence had no tickets, he realized as the man came around.   
Again, using his most innocent, wide-eyed look, Clarence said simply his mother was “back there” and gave a general motion.  
And the conductor gave the boy a long look and, finding him well dressed and polite, let the matter lie.  
Tiny boys don't just come onto trains themselves, he chuckled as he moved on.

\---

It wasn't until hours later that Clarence's absence was found out.   
“What do you mean he went for a lie down?” Anna said bitingly as she checked on the children at tea.   
“You'd have to ask the tutor, Mrs. Bates,” Nanny replied. “He sent him for a lie down this morning when Clarence said he was ill. I have nothing to do with it.”

 

“But he didn't come down,” Anna protested.   
“Well, I checked and he isn't here,” Nanny replied. “He's probably in one of the rooms napping or playing with the dog if he isn't with you.”  
“I expected him back, sick or no, by now or I wouldn't have mentioned it yet. It's really the tutor's job for sending him down.”

And with that Anna Bates left the room with an intensity of emotion that was quite terrifying.   
“Wouldn't want to be Mr. Bailey for all the tea in China,” Nanny thought with a smile.

\---

“You think I'm mad, neh? Overreacting because of the worry?”  
Anna paced the servants hall, her eyes shadowed. 

Mrs. Moseley made a soothing sound and Daisy came in with more tea.   
“Sometimes I can't help remembering that the world can turn so suddenly black as night,” Anna said in a strained voice.  
Daisy knew first hand and she was sure Phyllis had heard of her past troubles.

“Usually I can deny it. When Mr. Bates is close by I can try to be the sunny optimist. But sometimes I forget to stop myself from remembering. The world can be quite black.”

 

“Now, Anna. He's just asleep somewhere in one of the rooms. We'll find him.  
Or he's out in the stables looking around. Thomas has the staff looking. We'll find him soon enough.”  
Mrs. Moseley's voice was gentle and low. 

“And we'll hug him and try to figure out a punishment for the worry, but he's just a lad. Some time I'll tell you some of the things Thomas got up to as a lad of six. Your hair will curl.”

 

And Anna sniffed her tears away and smiled, as she'd intended.  
They just needed to search.

\---

Mr. Barrow was upstairs having first questioned the tutor for clues and finding the man clueless.  
The children, then, he'd thought and gone to find the other three. 

“I didn't think he was sick, but I didn't think he was stupid,” admitted Johnny Bates, toe digging a divot into the carpet.  
“He seemed to just want out for a bit, and I thought he went down to the kitchen to steal a sweet before mum sent him back up.”  
“When he didn't come back, I thought maybe he was actually sick.”

 

“But the truck,” Edward said in a whispery little voice that made them look, but not hear. 

Barrow looked back at Johnny.   
“Tell me where you'd hide if you were your brother. His favorite places besides downstairs, since I'm sure you've seen the entire upstairs at one time or another.”  
The butler grimaced slightly. One small boy in dozens of large rooms would be hard to find.   
Chances were they'd have to wait until he woke up and found them.

 

“But the truck,” Edward tried again, tugging at his sister's dress tail.   
Violet batted him away, annoyed. 

“It really wasn't right of Mr. Bailey to not make sure he went where he ought,” Violet spoke up.   
“I hope Nanny doesn't get the blame.”  
And she gave her most imperious smile.   
“That man is most rude. And most dull.”

 

Barrow puffed a breath out through his lips.   
The girl was nine going on ninety, he thought.  
But all he said was, “let's focus on finding Clarence first, then we'll sort out the blame.”

“BUT THE TRUCK,” yelled Edward, startling them all. 

The boy was tiny for five--dark haired, green eyed, pale.  
Delicate even, and easily ignored.   
“A truck, Master Edward?” Barrow said, turning toward him.   
“Clarey got in the truck,” Edward said, again in his usual soft voice.

 

“What?!” shrieked Nanny, not having expected it.   
Everyone was searching the house, like a game of hide and seek gone wrong.  
No one would think anything else, not of a (fairly) sensible lad like Clarence.

“Come and you can point out which truck,” Barrow said gently, picking up Master Edward as easily as a feather.  
“You'll be a big help to us, Master Edward. Thank you for speaking up.”

And with a few words to calm the Nanny and send her about the task of keeping watch on the other two, Barrow and Edward left the room.

\---

The train, which at first was exciting, soon lulled Clarence with its smooth rocking back and forth.   
He'd missed his naptime. Nanny still made them lie down like babies for an hour, and he usually hated it, but now he found himself drowsy.   
Maybe it wasn't just rest time for the old woman after all. 

 

It was only when the train came to a thunking stop and a family of noisy passengers got off that Clarence woke.   
Hours had passed him by unawares.  
“Finally,” he thought. “I can get off and look around.”  
And he did, not knowing how far away he was from home.


	23. Chapter 23

(Note: Chapter subtitle....."Golly gumdrops, what a turn up?" :) )  
  


-  
-  
-  
There were a lot of very tall buildings around him, Clarence thought as he wandered around, looking.  
In a village, like Downton, he'd have been spotted out immediately.  
But in a city, a boy could wander along behind this family or that without anyone knowing he didn't belong.  
No one seemed to know anyone, at least based on what he saw. 

 

People were polite, but they weren't stopping to share family news.  
It was all rush-rush, bang-clang, smelly. And Clarey wandered on exploring at will without anyone paying him mind. 

A vendor on the corner had some mouth watering fried pies and, seeing Clarey's hungry look, had shared one with the boy. “Running an errand for your mum, lad? Well, here's a treat for being a good worker at your age.”  
Refreshed with food and his earlier sleep, Clarence moved along without hesitation. 

 

It was still light out, and he couldn't tell how much time had passed.  
But it didn't feel like much, what with the excitement fizzing through his veins.  
He had just really started to walk, a half hour at most, and he was used to quite long hikes even on his short legs.

\---

“Sam says that he picked up some equipment in the village, so we've called Mrs. Hughes to get the word out round town. She and Carson know everybody, which means the backyards will be searched in short order.”  
Barrow looked to where Anna was sitting worrying her hand through her other son's hair.  
He slightly inclined his head to the hall in a motion to Andy. 

 

It was dimly lit in the hallway, and in spite of there being no clocks, the butler had a sense of rapidly passing time. He took a deep breath and tried to get his bearings.

“Samuelson said he parked at the station for the equipment. Do you think the boy would get on the train?” Barrow asked.  
Parker's own boy was almost the same age, after all.  
Andy rolled his eyes. “You're as bad as Anna for worry. Any conductor would turn him out before they even started up.”

The butler smirked slightly.  
“It's the innocent looking ones who get away with the most,” Barrow suggested.  
“I would call up the station master and have an alert put out along the line, call in Sgt. Willis even, but I hate to see that man ever again.”

 

Andy chewed his lip.  
He knew that any 'fuss' with the police was to be avoided, but it was a child in the balance.  
“Might as well do,” he said finally. “Whether he did or not, might as well sound the alarm loudly as softly. That's what I'd want you to do if it was Davey.”  
Barrow huffed. 

 

“But don't tell Anna.”  
“Heavens no, don't tell Anna.”  
“I will, however, have to alert them upstairs.”  
The men sighed.  
Chances were it was still just one small boy out on a lark, but now it was also quite the elaborate mess.

\---

Clarey managed to get on an omnibus by trailing behind a rather fat lady's skirt tail.  
And squished into the corner of the seat behind her jutting bosom, the lad was quite beyond sight.  
Unfortunately when she got off the bus, the conductor did see him and ejected him quite speedily, too. 

Looking round, Clarence saw he was in the city green.  
There was a beautiful big building to his left, bigger even than Downton.  
He wandered toward it, but a fence kept him out. 

 

Finally, it was at this point that the boy felt the beginnings of trepidation.  
He was no longer sure he could find the train station nor with it the train to go home.  
The crowds milling round him were the biggest he'd ever seen.  
And he'd gone with his parents before to the city to see the moving pictures once and even a travelling show.

Clarey let himself be buffeted by the crowd, following it as it went.  
Another great long building, but at least this one had trees beside.  
The boy walked in their shade, still not sure what to do. 

 

He finally decided he'd better 'fess up and ask for help.  
But the people were paying absolutely no mind to one small boy.  
They seemed to surge forward down the street as though to see some event. 

Lords!  
Lords?

 

Clarence looked over as a group of old men clustered and chatted, making their way out of a grand building.  
Lords, like his lordship.  
That's exactly what Clarence needed.  
For he knew in trouble, his lordship always helped.

Clarey ducked under and around, running as fast as he could.  
A guard almost caught him, but he was a small and unexpected breach in the security.  
And by the time another did have him in hand, he saw whom he needed to see. 

 

“Lord Grantham,” he called out, trying to wriggle from the guard's grip.  
“I need to ask his lordship a question. I know him,” the boy said when the man yanked him into the air.  
And though the guard's eyes seemed to laugh at him, his face never broke expression.

Just like Andy and Mr. Barrow upstairs, Clarey thought quickly...but still in the panic to escape he flailed all limbs about.

Now, having unexpectedly been kicked by a child's boot (unerringly directed to the groin), the guard let go.  
And Clarey was able to run forward. “Lord Grantham,” he called out again, as the old man started unheedingly toward a car.  
“DONK!”

 

The gaggle of Lords turned as one, Lord Grantham with them.  
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” Robert said, starting to walk away from the line of automobiles.  
His face had turned a rather violent shade of red, but there was no denying someone calling out that name, even if he didn't think the voice belonged to one of his grandchildren. 

 

Robert came up just as the guards approached the boy from the rear.  
“I'm so sorry, your lordship,” Clarence Bates said in his best manner. “I do so apologize. But I'm absolutely lost and I need some assistance....please.”  
Clarey yanked his jacket into place and stood as tall as he could in front of the noble man.

 

Robert felt a chuckle bubbling up inside him, but he held it down.  
“Certainly.... Young Bates, isn't it? Gentlemen, we have this in hand.”  
And Robert Crawley, Lord Grantham, waved the guards away and took charge.  
“I know exactly where your father is, and he'll be very glad to see you I'm sure.”

So Robert felt very proud of himself, the hero of the week after all. 

And Bates telephoned immediately to his wife who almost fainted in relief.  
On the other end, she had flown apart, dropping the receiver then picking it up crying.  
He'd not heard her like this, ever. (Not even in the business with Green.)

 

So when they rang off, Bates called back and spoke to Barrow, man to man.  
“Keep Anna and Johnny there with you if you could, Thomas?  
“She'll want to go home, but I don't think it's wise.”

Barrow's voice had a humorous edge. “Mr. Barrow to you, Mr. Bates?”  
And Bates chuckled darkly. (Strong allies they'd become, though perhaps never to admit to being friends.)

“But I'll do all I can, of course, as will the rest.," the butler continued.  
“Lady Mary's involved, so Anna won't have much choice in things, now will she?”  
And the men disconnected the line, with relief that nothing worse had happened  
to a small boy on an adventure  
on a lovely sunny day.


	24. Chapter 24

The film:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfamPJyDpPg  
The roof:  
http://www.bamptonarchive.co.uk/

-  
-  
-  
Tom sat in the tea room, looking across the table, face absolutely full of love.  
He couldn't believe it.  
His little girl at fifteen looked fully grown.  
Tom liked that the new styles seemed to be longer these years, more feminine than the flappers, more discreet like back in his youth. 

Yes, Branson knew about dresses.  
Unfortunately, having a daughter tended to broaden a man's knowledge in that department.  
And with Mary too busy, Branson had been forced to squire Sybbie around town to make her purchases. So he now also knew more than he ought about hats and shoes, too. 

(Oh, for decades past when they would have had a spare footman to do the task. Even Tom would have shifted the burden.)  
  


It was exhausting being a father to a young adult.  
Although at least his wasn't running off on trains.   
(Tom's mouth quirked up slightly at the thought of Anna's son, now perpetually on a short rein.)  
But a daughter had its own set of problems. He sighed.   
Thank heavens he could count on Cora and Mary to help him survive the next few years. 

 

“Now just remember that your Aunt Edith and Marigold are coming early tomorrow and don't go haring off to the soup kitchen before you say hello,” he warned the girl as she leaned in for a bite.  
Sybbie rolled her eyes, mouth too busy chewing to comment.  
The girl seemed quite off her cousin recently, and, of course, Tom felt he knew why. 

 

“Now, love, you can't hold what you know against Marigold, surely. Not after we had our 'talk.'” The last word came out with a meaningful tone.

“I'm not sure I want her around, daddy. And I don't know that she'd want to be with me.”  
Sybbie wasnt' exactly sure of her father's meaning, except that he meant her to spend her time with cousin Marigold when the girl had behaved badly on the last visit. 

 

“But to hold her birth against her,” Tom said in a very low voice after looking side to side. “We did talk about it, and you seemed to accept things. Were relieved even.  
“So I'm not sure why you've gone off.”

Tom sipped his drink and looked at her seriously.  
Girls were a mystery, but Sybbie had to know that family meant more than anything at all. 

 

Slowly Sybbie Branson put the pieces together.  
Her birth? Against her?  
Talk?  
Obviously Sybbie remembered the talk about illegitimate birth.  
She'd worried about what Marigold had said about Daniel.  
But her birth? Against her?

 

Sybbie tried to keep her face unreadable as she wound back through the maze of memories and tried to recall everything exactly as was said.  
Heavens.  
Father's hypothetical child at the soup kitchen was Marigold.  
Her cousin Marigold, she of the snobbish attitude, was illegitimate?

 

“But does SHE know, daddy? That's the problem with me talking to her," Sybbie vamped.   
" I don't want to reveal some dark family secret.”  
She wanted to make sure she was right without causing a problem with her father.  
Still, Tom looked fit to choke.

“No, she does not. And there's no reason for anyone to. Not even you, but we've crossed the rubicon on that.  
“So can't you just be my sweet girl and be kind? I know you'll want to do the right thing.”

 

Sybbie sipped and smiled slightly, cornflower blue eyes twinkling.  
Fortunately for Marigold, her father was correct.  
The Branson family always did the Right Thing.  
But at least she now knew not to care at all about what that silly chit thought.

(Miss Stick-it-up-Your Jumper, Sybbie thought as she sipped and smiled.)

\---

It was, indeed, very early the next morning when the Pelhams arrived,   
headlights of their car cutting through the last of the morning fog.   
Breakfast was still being served to the family, but that was acceptable and they were invited to join--family, too, after all.  
Finally done, the men retired to the study for a talk, while Cora and Edith tackled the garden.  


There was still dew, and a bit of mist at the edges, but it was cool and pleasant to be out and about.  
Soothing. Which was needed for the topic.  


It was a mission of sorts by Edith and Bertie--Brancaster was in trouble.  
The two had done their best to keep up appearances and run things in an efficient, modern fashion.  
But the bigger estates, especially, were vulnerable.  
True, there was some lessening of the troubles, as the economy stabilized somewhat from the crash. 

However, times remained difficult.  
“We haven't quite given up,” Edith told Cora as they walked along the garden paths.  
“Bertie is looking at all the alternatives, including letting the place out more frequently than just for a season.  
“And we've had an offer from a school for a portion of it, but of course that would mean most people would be put off from enjoying the rest of it as a home.”

 

Edith and Cora walked along in silence for a bit.  
“A hospital?” asked Cora, whose mind now went in that direction automatically.  
“No, there is one already. And they do seem to like to build new these days, with modern rooms and such, rather than reusing an old pile like ours.” Edith laughed. “Grand though it is.”

 

“We'll muster through, of course, but Bertie thought Tom might have some ideas....or papa.”  
Edith smiled at that.  
She still felt a relief when her father had a part in the decision, though he rarely had a practical solution at all.  
“I'm sure it will be quite all right,” Cora soothed. “And in the meantime, let's look at the gardens.”  
For in Cora's books, nothing spread oil on troubled waters like a nice English garden stroll.

\---

Later that evening, Edith found herself an unwilling participant in an even more uncomfortable situation.  
Her daughter had talked Sybbie into a flick that Marigold proclaimed she was “absolutely dying” to see.  
As a result, Edith and Mary found themselves playing gooseberry and chaperoning the girls to Ripon.

 

Mary, of course, thought the moving pictures terribly common, but Tom had specifically asked her to go with Sybbie and she'd given in.  
At least for the hour, she and Edith wouldn't have to make polite conversation in front of their parents.  
Edith, while loving movies, was having the same reaction to spending an evening with Mary.  
So the two sisters unwillingly trailed the two young cousins to the showing.

 

The film that evening was “Forever England,” which almost made Edith groan.  
She and Mary had lived through the Great War.  
They didn't need a cinematic review of it.  
But even Sybbie was enthusiastic over the actor, John Mills, and so they all went in. 

 

Well.  
Apparently it was no longer a problem to make the leading character of the picture an illegitimate young man.  
Lady Edith began to sit further down in her seat, even as Lady Mary sat straighter up with a smirk. 

For John Mills played a young man who saved the day and was revealed by means of a watch to be the son of the commander.  
The illegitimate son.  
And while the title was in perfect romantic tradition, coming from a Rupert Brooke poem after all, Edith was not sure why her daughter would have willingly chosen such a picture as this.

\---

“Our brave young Englishmen,” Mary commented lightly to the girls when they were leaving. “And you think Mr. Mills handsome?”  
Sybbie smiled tightly.  
Though John Mills looked nothing like Daniel Barrow, she caught Marigold's reasons direct.  
“Handsome and brave. Obviously the officers thought he'd been the one to save the day.”

Marigold just giggled and turned to look round.  
“Perhaps we can go to the tea room before going back?” she suggested smugly.  
And thoroughly pleased with the way the evening was going, Marigold and Mary led the other two down the lane.

\---

“If Mary had selected it, I would have thought it intentional,” Edith complained as she turned out the light to lie down.  
“Even Sybbie. But Marigold just likes the actor, and it was a coincidence. Still, Mary sat there like a cat with cream.”

Bertie knew this was no laughing matter to Edith.  
And in the dark of the bedroom, he pulled her close.

Edith sighed lightly. ”I know I'm being silly.”  
He smiled in the dark. “You're never silly,” he murmured.  
“You're a good mother and my absolute love.”  
She smiled and burrowed into his chest.

Bertie smoothed a hand over Edith's head, caressing her hair, then trailed fingertips over her shoulder and her arm.  
“You are perfect, Edith Pelham. And I'm so glad that you're mine.”  
And with a rough kiss, meek and quiet Bertie Pelham quite made any thought of British cinema leave his wife's mind.

\--

The next morning dawned bright and early. 

Isobel's soup kitchen had outgrown its original home in the cottage hospital.  
By taking donations, however, they were now able to stand on their own and even contribute back a bit toward the hospital's campaign for a new roof.

And since she had spent all evening with her cousin, Sybbie felt perfectly right in taking her regular Saturday shift.  
She'd see Marigold at dinner, after all.  
Sybbie sighed, but caught herself and plastered on a smile.  
(Put a good face on it, she reminded herself. Quite the family motto.)

 

And after an hour or more of smiling and helping people with actual dire problems than hers, Sybbie's mood was vastly improved.  
“How can I even worry about her foolishness when the Edna Smith knows her father has a cancer?”

Sybbie was all of fifteen, and she knew what mattered and what didn't.  
Marigold's rudeness didn't.  
Even Marigold's secret didn't.  
So she pushed it all aside and kept serving a nice stew to the line of people waiting there. 

 

“And you look like you've done your duty,” Daniel Barrow said from behind her, making her jump.  
Flustered, she smoothed her hair and tried not to look as hot as she felt.  
“I have. Done my duty.”  
(Take a breath, Sybbie, it's only Danny Barrow.)  
“What are you doing here? A delivery?”

“Yes, and an errand for Mr. Mason at the store.”  
Danny looked at her, grey eyes smiling, a lock of dark hair falling slightly out of place.  
How Sybbie wanted to take her fingers and put it back.  
She started slightly and blushed at the thought. 

“Do you want to walk with me? Take a bit of air?”  
The young man said it innocently enough. He wasn't about to fool with one of the family, though Miss Sybbie was a Branson, not a Crawley.  
But it was hot in the kitchen.  
“You look as pink as a poppy,” he grinned. “Might should cool down before Lady Merton has to call in the doc.”

“Yes,” the girl said, going from pink to red.  
Just yes.  
She wiped her nervous hands against the apron before taking it off.  
“I've earned a bit of a break.”

Out walking with a young man, she thought.  
Piffle on Marigold Pelham. (And Sybbie grinned with the childish thought.)  
Daniel Barrow was far more handsome than John Mills.  
Just like that prince in the fairy tale they'd read over and over as children.  
  
And obviously no one in their families could complain about where he'd come from.  
After all, people in glass houses couldn't throw stones.


	25. Chapter 25

(Note: Illness x 3 )

-  
-  
-  
Thomas handed Joe the letter as he went through to the cottage kitchen.  
While the worse cook of the two, Barrow still intended to at least warm something for them to eat.  
Miller had caught a slight cold and a bit of a cough, and given his relatively recent injury, Thomas felt protective.

“You need to at least try to tidy things up, Mr. Miller,” Thomas said in mock disapproval. “Or I'll have to send one of the maids down to give the place a proper going over.”  
(Particular about germs and cleanliness, only for love would Thomas have willingly entered the cottage.  
And even more for love did he drop a kiss on the other man's head as he went by. )

 

Miller smiled, though he felt rather worse for wear.  
His hair was in his eyes and his chin covered in stubble.  
Certainly not the way to greet a lover. (But thankfully they could see past that now.)

 

“You'll laugh when you read it,” Thomas called back into the front room.  
“Master George's friend has been sent down from Eton.”  
A bang and a curse followed as Barrow searched out a pan.

“So his James WAS like your James,” Joe called back.

 

“Steady on. I thought you two were thick as thieves these days.”  
Thomas brought in dishes and cutlery, laying the table with perfect ease.  
Joe just grinned and looked back to the letter.  
“Yes, be jealous of me and the golden boy,” he chuckled, then coughed.

“I know you love me most,” Thomas said with a pat as he passed him by.  
“What?” Joe looked up suddenly at the other man. “What does that mean?”

 

Barrow laughed outright.  
“I meant to hold it to embarrass you some fine day, and I've spoiled it.”  
He turned slightly red, but looked pleased with himself.  
“When you got hit on the head and were coming round, that's what you kept saying. Wouldn't respond at all sensibly. Just kept saying that you loved me the most.”  
“Like you'd picked me above all others, you embarrassing sod.”

Thomas came back across the room and leaned down, heedless of germs.  
“And I love you the most back,” he whispered, his voice so rough with emotion that it almost made Miller tear up.  
(No longer afraid to say it straight out. What improvement we two have made.)

 

“But of course, you know that by now, or you're daft.”  
And composing his face into a casual smirk, Thomas went back into the kitchen to keep things from burning as they warmed. 

Sniffing slightly (from pleased emotion? From congestion? From both?) Joe continued to read George's letter, feeling for that moment lucky indeed. 

\---

“It's not the flu or I'd be dead by now, too,” Thomas said as they sat in the after dinner twilight.  
“Stupid git. It's just aches and a cough. Stop fussing,” the other replied, fondly. 

“But you still should have something for it. Not from that peacock of a doctor, but Mrs. Hughes might know of some poultice.”

“You should go see old Carson yourself,” Miller muttered, tracing the veins on Thomas's arm, then brushing the hair on the forearm back. Darker hair than his. (Furry beast. )

 

Dizzy and half asleep, Joe smiled a bit whimsically.  
Such a foolish bastard he'd fallen for when he'd given his heart at last. 

As the last of the birds quieted in the gloaming, Joe rested his head on Thomas's shoulder.  
Yes, he did love him the best.  
Surely that was enough.

\---

Thomas wasn't sure Carson would want the visit, though the last few years he'd managed to stop by their cottage every few weeks or so.

The last pleasant time, if you could call it that, was when Lady Rose 'invaded' and he had an excuse for a chat.  
A chat and a bottle of wine, for Carson still loved a good vintage, saying it helped with the palsy.

 

Just to provoke the predicable glare and grumble, Thomas would make sure to suggest each time that he'd nicked the wine off his lordship.  
(Though by now they had to know he'd bought it himself.)  
It was all part of Carson's 'game': the adherence to proprieties, the insistence on decanting and proper stemware, the stern lectures to 'his' subordinate.

 

And sipping a glass, he'd listen to the big house happenings—nodding, garumphing, chuckling, and letting his eyebrows carry most of the talk.  
Barrow had excellent hearing still and could usually figure out what the old man said when in his softened voice he made a final judgment. 

Besides after years of Carson's judgments and pronouncements, Thomas usually knew what would be said even before the hearing of it.  
(So his practice of tuning the old man out, but still knowing when to nod had become its own blessed skill.)

 

The problem was the last visit.  
And it wasn't his fault. 

Mr. Carson had fallen and Mrs. Hughes had tried to call Yew Tree first for help.  
But neither they nor the Carson's near neighbors were at home.  
So naturally she'd called the Abbey and just as naturally they'd come.  
But for a man as proud as Carson, this had been an embarrassing blow. 

 

Thomas worried about a meeting now.  
Not for himself, but for the sake of Mr. Carson's pride. 

 

So it had now gone on two months he'd not forced himself through their door.  
And he realized with a start how much he valued the peace that had settled between himself and the old man. How much he missed the visits now that he'd stopped.

 

Well, there's nothing for it but to push through it, Thomas thought, grabbing a particularly good bottle he'd got for the purpose.  
Mrs. Hughes could help in the smoothing, he hoped, but at least she'd know he'd tried. 

\---

Mr. Mason looked a bit peaky, Daniel Barrow thought as he finished the chores for the day.  
Must be something going around.  
He needed to tell Andy his worries, for Daniel was doing as much as he could already to keep things running smoothly. 

But he couldn't get the old man to rest.  
(Yes, Danny'd started out cack handed, but that wasn't the problem now.)  
He put away the fork in the corner and walked outside the barn.  
It was evening and the world smelled slightly of damp grass and cow manure--surprisingly not an unpleasant combination to the city boy.  
He pulled the latch and checked that it held. 

 

Danny knew another farm hand was unlikely, though they would have help in a month or so at the height of things.  
And it wasn't all on him-- Davey was a help, which actually worried Daniel, too.  
A boy his age should have a few days of fun.  
(Truly, Barrow never had.  
His grandfather had seen to that, and it left a bitter streak inside him that had taken years to heal. )

 

Thank heaven for Yew Tree, the Parkers and Masons.  
And how he wished his mother could be there with them now. 

The young man knew that Margaret Barrow had married to insure a roof over her head and her mother's.  
Had married for food, not love.  
And now he knew the difference. 

The right of love. 

So he wished Margaret could have his life, too.  
And he safeguarded Davey's childhood ramblings.  
And he worried about the old man. 

Because Daniel Barrow had become part of the family.  
And that's what families did.


	26. Chapter 26

http://archive.spectator.co.uk/article/18th-october-1935/41/new-cars-at-olympia

Motor show women  
http://collection.sciencemuseum.org.uk/objects/co8223326/streamlined-car-on-display-at-a-motor-exhibition-olympia-glass-plate-negative

 

-  
-  
-  
“I'm thinking of going up to London before the frost sets in,” Lady Mary told Anna as the maid finished her hair.  
She'd been a country woman these last few years, only rarely venturing south for fashions or shows.  
There was so much to keep her occupied with the estate and the family.

“To an event, my lady?” Anna asked as she brought over accessories.  
The maid needed to know what to pack, but she also simply wondered at the decision.  
Why the last two times, the business had been so brief, Lady Mary hadn't even taken her, just whizzed down and back overnight.

 

“Oh, the usual things. I think I'll even stay at the Ritz, rather than with Aunt Rosamund. I always feel awkward now that I've got two relatives in town.  
“So I'll end up at dinner with each of them...separately,” Mary drawled. “Mustn't ever mix the two.”

“Yes, my lady,” Anna said smiling. Her uncle and her aunt definitely didn't mix.

 

“I've got some business to take care of, but there's no reason not to have a treat. And I always did love going for tea at the Ritz.  
“Bring along the full regalia, then you can buck me up by making me beautiful.”

Anna breathed out the barest hint of a laugh.  
'Beauty' had never been Lady Mary's problem.  
“Seriously, I think I may be going a bit grey,” and Mary leaned into her mirror and stared at her hairline in a somewhat irritated fashion as though daring the hair to misbehave.

 

“You look perfect, my lady, and you know it.”  
Anna finished her work and stood back, admiring.  
It was pleasant to see Lady Mary show such spark.

\---

What Anna didn't know was that it was an unpleasant reason for the trip, more than the urge for adventure.  
Mary knew that the fall motor show would be in London mid month.  
It was the one absolutely required event of any car man's year.

 

These days, Henry had entirely stopped writing to her, or took to writing so sporadically that she felt quite out of touch.  
Enough of this, Lady Mary thought.  
In some disasters things happened suddenly.  
In others, the blow fell by degrees, so gently that you only came to realize it by the end.

 

Mary was almost certain that in the case of her marriage to Henry Talbot things had come slowly to the end. 

But at any rate, with the holidays just two months away, she needed to know the truth of it.  
She needed to help the children with the truth of it. And the rest of the family, too.

\---

Anna had a list of things to do while in the city that would keep her busy for the entire time if she'd let them.  
“I'll get a ride over to my meeting and be back to dress for tea,” Lady Mary said. “Now you've got what you need?”  
“Yes, my lady. Do you?” Anna still wasn't sure exactly what the business was or where, but she'd turned Lady Mary out stylishly enough for anything, she thought.  
(And a number of turned heads attested to that fact.)  
“Yes. I'm perfect. Thank you, Anna.”

 

And with that, Mary headed west to the Olympia.  
Out front was a madhouse with newspapermen and photographers.  
Even inside in relative calm, the size of it was rather overwhelming when looking for one vagrant husband.  
Still, Mary took her time and soon saw how things were organized. And as she got nearer to the Morris motor cars, a nice gentleman helped direct her through the crowd.

 

Henry.  
Granny once told her that the heart wasn't solely for pumping blood, and catching sight of her husband, even at a distance, made her heart lurch.  
This was the same problem that made her put up with his behavior all these years.  
Her heart kept hoping in the back and forth of it, they'd find themselves back to where they'd first loved. 

 

Mary Talbot made her way across the floor and tapped her husband's arm.  
“Hello, Henry,” she said, arching an eyebrow.  
His shocked face earned a smirk.  
“Yes, I thought we might talk, even if you have business at hand.”

 

Talbot quickly collected himself.  
“You came. You've never come in all these years.”

“You've never completely abandoned me and the children in all these years,” she said back evenly.  
“I thought maybe if I made an effort, you might be able to make one in return.”

Henry's shoulders bowed slightly.  
“I can't go back there, Mary. Not with your father calling the tunes. Not with everyone looking at my work like it's the last thing on the list that matters.”

 

Mary came a bit closer and looked up at him.  
Still gorgeous, green eyed, charming.  
“Dinner, perhaps? We'll negotiate. I've heard businessmen do that.”  
She tried to make her tone light, would never think to beg--though the humiliation of this secret trip was beggary enough.  
“And remember, papa did try to mend the fence.”

 

Henry sighed. “Rules? Tomorrow at eight?”  
Then he glanced over his shoulder as though worried he was missing his customers, but his smile seemed natural enough as it turned back to her.  
A truly dashing man, perfectly turned out in his suit and tie.

 

Mary smiled.  
“Accepted.”  
And she walked away, not letting herself look back.  
It probably was still the end of things, but at least they'd talk civilly.  
(And, who knew, maybe there might be hope.)

\---

By late afternoon, Anna was rushing and had her arms full of parcels. But she still stopped when the manager came forward with one more.  
There'd just been a delivery for Lady Mary, the man smiled.  
Anna accepted it and put it among the rest of the items, making her way to the suite.

 

It had been a hectic day, more so for her than it would be for her ladyship, she was sure.  
Even if Lady Mary had business, Anna Bates had work—work and errands that took her sore feet all over town.  
And she felt a bit of a shudder as she saw the traffic rattling by on the streets.  
(How lucky they'd been not to lose Clarence that day.)

 

Lady Mary had gone out to have luncheon after her 'meeting,' and felt quite grubby when she returned.  
So there was a bath and a change before going to Lady Rosamund's.  
Then Anna took time to put the parcels away, laying the special delivery near the door to the suite, so that Lady Mary could see it when she entered.  
That all done, Anna decided to rest. She's be up again late to help Lady Mary undress. 

\---

The maid dozed off a bit in the chair, waiting.  
And a noise woke her up, a tiny bit of a thing like a strangled cry.  
Anna started forward before the thought even crossed her mind to wait.  
  
The lights in the front room were low.

 

Lady Mary was back, something crumpled in her hands.

“My lady?” Anna asked, continuing toward her.  
“When did this come? Who left it?” Mary asked, her voice steady but very thin.  
Only someone who knew her well could tell that she was upset. 

 

“It was at the desk, when I came back. I'm not sure who left it. Is it bad news from home?”  
Anna went forward, keeping her eyes on Mary, rather than the items crumpled in her hands.  
“No, not something I didn't know about, but still very unwelcome business.”

Straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, Lady Mary went toward her bedroom at a rapid clip.  
“Help me change for bed, Anna. I'm utterly worn out.”

 

She carelessly tossed the items in the bureau upon entering the private room, face down and hidden from view. 

\---

Rules had not been one of Henry's best ideas.  
For the pictures Mary had received last night had included photographs of him with a woman at Rules, the Ritz, and the Criterion.  
  
Her husband had good taste in restaurants, if not in choosing such a tart.

The popping of flashbulbs outside had given way to luxury and quiet music within.  
Henry rose as she approached and nodded approvingly.  
Diamonds and silk and elegance, wrapped in a slight cloud of perfume.

 

Wine ordered, they finally began to talk.  
“I've been thinking all night, Mary, and I really believe we can make a clean start of it if you come to London and live.  
“We've been strangled by all that family business. You know Tom can run things, or your father, or someone you hire.  
“We tried it your way and it didn't work. Won't you please try it mine?”

 

And Henry smiled at her almost complacently, she thought.  
He assumed that having her father come up, then her come up, meant that he had some sort of leverage.  
Lady Mary smirked slightly and raised both eyebrows as though in astonishment.  
“Really, Henry, that's your offer?”

 

Carefully, keeping her hand absolutely steady, she took a small sip of wine.  
“You'd need to come back tail completely tucked at this point.”  
“And even then....”  
Fiddling with the clasp of the small evening clutch she pulled out one of the photographs, folded in quarters.

First smoothing it carefully and looking down, Mary finally pushed the thing across the table.  
“Apparently you're being spied on....and for quite a while it seems. And though I don't know or care who your enemy is, they must want to be my friend, because they sent these to me.”  
Henry gaped and started to stutter--finally ending his incoherence  
with the one main question “Don't you want to be married?”

  


“I did,” Lady Mary answered. “Oh, Henry I very much did.  
But now I'm finding that I no longer want to be married.....to you.”  
And Lady Mary Crawley got up, smiled tightly, and walked out.

\---

The divorce of Lady Mary Crawley and Henry Talbot would sell papers for months, as society folks misbehaving often do.  
But at the first of it, all Mary could think about was untangling herself neatly with as little damage to family as possible.  
  
Such news didn't lend itself to telephones, she thought, so Aunt Rosamund was actually first of the Family to hear.  
(If Mary, secret revealed, immediately cried a bit with Anna such could be forgiven.)

Rosamund, of course, was appalled.  
She was also irritated that Mary had not stayed with her. And put off that only Edith had been visiting her in ever so long.  
In short, Mary's visit with her Aunt Rosamund was brief and acrid, with both of them leaving in high dudgeon.

 

Mary's visit to her uncle Harold was relatively benign by comparison.  
Harold seemed used to wealthy families having divorce scandals and took them in stride.  
He simply offered brandy and the name of a good attorney for advice.  
Thank heavens for Uncle Harold, Mary thought.

\---

And while she still had her parents to face, Mary felt less sorrow than she might have, less worry, and absolutely no guilt.  
She'd tried her best.  
If she was the first Crawley to ever divorce, well, at least she'd been able to keep her other “firsts” unpublished up until this.


	27. Chapter 27

-  
-  
-  
They were sitting around the servants hall table looking glum, though Daisy had gone far beyond porridge for a change.  
(Divorce would breed many complications. They needed the comforting smells of a full English fry.)

The first problem, of course, would be the business of the motor cars, but they'd all pretty much decided Mr. Branson would trounce Mr. Talbot on that.  
(“Poor man. It's like being cheated on yourself when your best mate does something like this,” Andy'd noted.)  
Hopefully, then, the money wouldn't cause grief downstairs. 

 

More important, there was the matter of the children.  
They'd not seen their father much, true, but they had one. And now they were in some sort of limbo.  
(“Will he still come by, you think, and bring them presents and stuff while everyone tries to be polite?” Daisy had asked as she poured the tea round.)

  


“She'll get through it all with flying colors. She will,” Anna said finally when the gloom had stretched on a bit too long for her liking. 

“Lady Mary is strong,” agreed Mr. Barrow. (Though his thoughts on being made a pariah by society had more bitter reality than those of the rest.)

  


“Well, I have a bit of gossip to share that this overshadowed,” Anna said suddenly giving a grin. The table turned to look at her, made curious by the happy lilt to her voice.

“I saw an old friend of yours in London, Mr. Barrow.”  
Barrow merely looked at her, questioning.  
“Mrs. O'Brien.”  
Thomas's jaw dropped a bit. “You never.”

(That knocked his thoughts off divorce.)

  


“Jimmy told about her, and Daisy, too,” Andy piped in.  
He knew Old O'B as the villain of the piece, and, as long as she was kept at arm's length, would enjoy hearing the news as much as he would an update on a serial character.

“And she's married now,” Anna added, saving the choicest bit for last.  
Mr. Barrow, having attempted a casual sip of tea, gave a cough.  
She waited until he was safely breathing and not taking a sip to finish.  
“To Mr. Lang. Do you remember him?”

 

“The shell shocked valet? But what advantage would she see in that?” Thomas couldn't try to hide his curiosity.  
(O'Brien had betrayed him thoroughly and yet sometimes he'd reflexively wonder what she was up to.)  


“Perhaps she didn't do it for advantage. Perhaps the woman had a heart,” Bates said drily.  
Catching the joke, they laughed. (“Pigs flying,” said Barrow.)

 

“Well, are you going to let me tell it or not?” Anna pretended to frown, and gained her audience back.  
“The lady she was maid to only stayed in India for a few years. Back to England, O'Brien said they lived in a grand house--doors were pure gold.”

Andy laughed. “And the halls were inlaid in rubies and sapphires?”  
“Exactly,” said Anna. “O'Brien made it sound like the sultan's palace, but the name of the place is Foxhill, so you can judge the right of that.  
“Still, grand enough for the lady to have a full staff. In which, both Lang and O'Brien served.”

 

“Ah, the plot thickens," Thomas said, the ends of his lips now turned up into a slight smile in spite of himself.

“Well, sadly enough, the lady died, and the second wife doesn't much care for Mrs. O'Brien. So she and Lang caretake their London house. But she said the lord was sick recently, something to do with his heart, and was in town while he saw doctors to consult.”

  

They ate a moment, minds temporarily off of the upstairs tumult, before Andy asked, “So do you think she's the one who took the pictures?”  
Barrow, this time, was not swallowing, but his knife did drop with a bit of a bang.

 

“Where? Why?” he said, looking rather helplessly at his friend.  
“Well Jimmy said she was the type to lurk and plot. So this would fit,” Andy defended himself as Mr. Bates started chuckling. 

“I thought of that,” Anna admitted. “But she's too easy to notice, Andy. You wouldn't know.  
“She might WANT to lurk behind a potted plant at the Ritz and snap pictures, but they'd see her out soon enough.  
“So, no, I don't think it was her.”

 

Thomas mulled a bit, picking up his fork and managing a bite.  
No, Anna was right. O'Brien wouldn't have done it.  
But it was funny, though. Hearing of her.  
He was glad to know she was all right, and yet he also wished she was still in a faraway land.

\---

Lord Grantham and his daughter went down to breakfast as though nothing extraordinary was happening.  
It was the way they'd both been brought up, to be self contained.  
Sybbie, however, could feel the tension and knew her father was hurting, too.

When Branson entered, they all smiled though.  
“No one's even talking ARP, and they sent around a flyer in July for it,” Tom said, sitting down and breaking into the silence.  
It was October and totally obvious why he was only now bringing the thing up.  
“I certainly don't think I should be the one organizing it, but no one else has taken up the charge.”

 

It wasn't the topic about which they were all thinking, but it was a topic of just as many headlines.  
(War. How foolish politicians are, Mary thought.)

“My, my, becoming military at your age?” Mary teased him, taking up the flag.

Tom had been adamant about not fighting for King and country before, viewing them as oppressors of the Irish.  
And he still didn't believe in country politics, but he'd taken a keen interest in county and home.

 

“Hmpf. Well, someone needs to do it, or several someones. There's training to go to and things to be organized. This may be the slowest coming war we've ever seen, but we can surely agree it's coming.”  
Tom continued to eat as Robert rolled his eyes slightly. 

“I'm troubled by the Germans, and even think you may be right, but there's no need for gloom at breakfast,” the older man said. “Maybe the diplomats will have it.”

 

“Or Uncle Harold?” Mary said, smiling. “His business men are trying their best.”

“We need an air raid plan in place,” Tom said flatly. “And, yes, as the family is basically the leader in All Things, I thought you'd want to be the leader in this.”  
He looked at Lord Grantham and nodded. 

The problem was in front of him, and Tom knew it was something the older man could arrange.  
There was so much these days that defied “arranging,” but finding a few men to go to a few meetings would be helpful without being overwhelming.  
And it would keep everyone's mind more on bigger issues than the latest society splash.

\---

“Do you think I could do that?” Andy asked Mr. Barrow as they cleared up the dishes later.  
“Never volunteer,” Barrow said with finality. “Besides, he's just distracting them.”

“No, but this is something local, not like joining the army. Do you think it's something you need to be very smart to do?”

“You ARE very smart, Andy, but I still wouldn't volunteer if I were you. Not without being sure of all the ins and outs of it.”  
“Don't volunteer.”

And that was Thomas's last advice on the matter. Besides, he wouldn't be distracted, even by talk of war.

\---

Nanny had the children playing quietly when Barrow went up to the nursery.

Master George had never known his father, so it was natural to have a man step in to help.  
But Barrow wasn't sure it would be as easy for Master Edward.  
Still, he intended to be available should the boy have need. 

 

And, besides, Barrow enjoyed Miss Violet immensely.  
Master George might be his favorite, but Miss Violet sometimes said things so viciously honest that even Barrow had to admire her wit.  
(What would the nine year old be like grown up, he wondered, and looked forward to finding out.)

“Ah, and Mr. Barrow's joined us just in time for stories,” Nanny said as the butler rolled his eyes.

But he took the chance to scoop the boy into his lap and sit by Miss Violet.  
“And am I reading or listening?” he asked the girl agreeably.  
“Reading,” Violet demanded as the Bates boys drew near.  
“Nanny can rest and get us ready for snack.”

\---

Lady Mary had kept quietly to the house that day.  
She knew she'd have to go out to the tenancies and down to the estate office by tomorrow, but for today she was taking time off. 

 

After luncheon as she walked along the paths, Tom came to join her.  
It was as natural as their morning teasing. He was offering distraction or a shoulder to cry on in equal parts.  
Sybil had certainly picked a good man all those years ago.

 

“I believe my daughter's name is a self fulfilling prophecy,” Mary started, smiling.  
“I went up to check on them and she was ordering Barrow about like a serf.”

 

Branson chuckled.  
“Thomas is good with them,” he admitted. “I consider myself a good father, but he quite had Sybbie's heart on his sleeve.  
“She kept insisting she'd marry the man when she grew up.”

“Goodness,” Mary smiled. “Running off with the butler.”

“Well, you Crawleys don't have a chauffeur any more.” They had fallen into step side by side.

 

“You don't have to watch me, Tom. I'm not china. I won't break.”  
Mary looked at him, her eyes sad.

 

“I just couldn't believe him doing it. Kept thinking of excuses to deny it or fix it.”  
Tom huffed out a breath. “Now I'm just angry. And sad.”

“Mmmm...” Mary nodded. She'd picked the time of the decision.  
The rest of the family were still trying to catch up.  
“We'll be all right.”

 

“Henry won't. I'll make sure Mr. Morris knows that the Crawleys put up the cash and I've put up the patents. All Henry has is charm.”  
Tom was slightly flushed with emotion. He wanted revenge for them all. 

“Just wait a while, Tom. Let the lawyers handle things first. Then we'll see about that further on.”  
She smiled at the ground and kept walking.  
It would be all right for them, she knew.  
The family had survived far more important things than this.

\---

That evening, Lord Grantham walked into his bedroom and kissed his wife lightly as he slipped under the covers.  
In the darkness, he chuckled softly.  
“What?” she asked. 

“I'm just wishing I'd clocked Henry back when I saw him myself. I thought they'd make up the thing, so I didn't.”  
“But now I wish I'd just punched him right there in the Ritz.”

“And that would have worked,” she said mockingly, snuggling closer into his embrace.  
Robert's pugilistic skills were minimal at best even a dozen years ago. 

 

“Well, it would have been fun at least for once. Rather than trying to make right with a man who'd not done right by Mary.”  
“I know it's a dark thing, Cora, and you don't approve. But I do.  
“And I wish I'd brought it about sooner, rather than trying to keep appearances up.”

 

She finally gave a ghost of a smile herself.  
“You could always try when he comes to visit for the holidays.”

“He wouldn't,” Robert huffed in indignation.  
“Probably not, but you shouldn't anyway. You'd probably just end up both stuck in the tree.”  
(And she gave her own chuckle at the thought.)

 

“I wish our children had easier lives,” Cora finally said softly.  
“So do I, darling, so do I,” Robert replied softly back.


	28. Chapter 28

-  
-  
-

Shoots, hunts, and stalking had always been points fixed on the calendar.  
Now, though such events were still happening county wide, they were often happening on a smaller scale or catch as catch can when a party came from the south.

The last few years, a shoot at Downton meant a friend of Robert's or Tom's, who came in for a day here or there, not a real event.  
“Papa shooting is one thing,” Lady Mary commented more than once. “But papa and the entire cadre of his friends seems....foolish.”  
Lord Dunfey, in particular, was eighty and looked to be a hundred, though he moved about well enough.

But Robert wouldn't be parted from his guns. 

 

They'd long since given up the Hunt, but to quell her father's grumbles as the notices in the papers mounted up,  
Mary had said even if she'd not bend on hunting, they'd have a full and proper shooting party this fall.  
Well, it was autumn now.  
  
Of course, the agreement was before her confrontation with Henry, but nothing could be done for it, once things were in motion.

 

“Your father is in his glory,” Tom commented. “Keeps him fit, being out in the air.”  
He knew that Mary was surveying the men with a rather jaundiced eye, noting infirmities instead of strengths.  
But the younger man was satisfied they'd gone on with it.  
Tom himself was a good shot, though he'd honed his skill as a child plunking pigeons.  
And he'd pulled on his boots that morning as happily as Robert ever had. 

 

They were to have two different drives before the shoot picnic.  
It was still the same slow pace.

For while they'd debated taking motor cars for part of it, there still would have been wagons and on-foot, so the automobiles wouldn't have profited them much.  
(Besides Lord Grantham hated the thought.)

 

“The beaters were happy with the work,” Tom said as he and Mary walked the path out. “Times might not be as hard here as elsewhere in the north, but it didn't hurt to let them see you hiring again.”

Mary knew her role in providing jobs, and she tried to play it as well as she could.  
This shoot might well be the best way to show the village that she could still hold up her head.  
So Mary did just that. 

\---

“We're in the autumn of our lives, hey Linney?” Robert said as they trudged to their spot. “Hopefully I'll have as glorious of an autumn as this.”  
The trees and fields were indeed spectacular.  
The men and their loaders happy, the beaters again taking their places for another big show. 

“You've done a good job, Miller,” Lord Grantham said as his group made their slow way along.  
“The birds on that first drive were wonderful. Don't you thing, Linney?”

 

The last was rather shouted at an older gentleman wheezing along with them.  
“Marvelous,” the man said loudly back with a flash of yellowed buck teeth. “The day is marvelous.”

And the men went through the trail, enjoying the sense of comradery as much as any competition for the shoot itself. 

 

In position, or thereabouts, the shooters could hear a horn go off, just a tinny note repeated to tell the beaters to start their march.  
Soon added to it was the sound of 12 bores cracking in the crisp air. 

 

“I'm sure the cartridge company will profit most today,” Miller said in an undertone to the young loader with them.  
The young man grinned as the group coughed and complimented, limped and laughed their way through.  
He had, indeed, brought double the cartridges along.  
The polished gun balanced lightly in Miller's hands as he prepared his lordship for another try.  
An enjoyable day, over all. 

\---

Luncheon was in a large tent near the second location.  
Several of the men had come without wives this time, which had Cora worried.  
But no one had declined after the fact, so chances were it was just (old) boys being boys, not gossip, that kept the ladies away. 

The ladies who had come had mainly chosen not walk along with their men.  
So that party had enjoyed a quiet morning before being driven out to the site. 

 

Robert might protest the comfort of motor cars.  
But as an American, Cora thought the convenience well worth putting the tent nearer the lane. 

Conversation was, of course, light as the assembly enjoyed their “rustic” feast.  
(Rustic and yet still thoroughly catered and served by staff. Only beaters had cheese and bread in the rough.)

 

“How are things holding up?” Barrow asked Miller in passing as the tired keeper deposited his gentlemen close by.  
“Fine on my end. Yours?”  
“Lovely if you find wheeling a service out to the far reaches enjoyable.”

“You love the chaos,” Miller responded, smiling as he slowly wandered away.  
(And if as Andy passed by, he snagged a bite, the briefly grinning footman wouldn't tell.)

“No rest for the wicked,” Andy said to Barrow as they crossed paths.  
(Though, being Andy, he considered none of them wicked, and so was just making a jest.)

\---

The afternoon went much the same with the small parties coming in quite satisfied with themselves.  
And the Crawleys again realized how fortunate they were to have such amazing surroundings, having seen it themselves and heard it from guests.  
“It's certainly not on the scale of the old times,” Robert said to his daughter when she asked his assessment. “But it's still a jolly good time.”

 

And as he left her to chuckle over some triviality with one of his chums, Mary felt herself smile with pride.  
It would still be a large amount on the estate ledgers, what with extra help and her mother's (too sumptuous) dinner menu, but it was all for the best in the end. 

Downton had to preserve traditions, and a shoot was one of these.  
If it wasn't on the scale of the old days—just as well.  
In these times, that level of waste wasn't only impossible for all but the very top, it was also rude to others who couldn't reciprocate in kind. 

 

The old days weren't coming back.  
But some of the old ways, modified, were surviving still. 

“We need a bath,” Tom said, startling her by coming up unnoticed.  
“Barrow will ring the gong soon and your mother will expect us quickly turned out in our best.”

“You are rather untidy,” Mary smiled.  
“As are you,” he returned.  
“Point taken, but I'm glad for it. Just look at papa having his fun.”  
And Tom grinned and nodded back. “Glad for it, too,” he agreed, moving toward the stairs up.

\---

What with a handful of servants “brought with” and the temporary servants hired on, the hall downstairs was full for once.  
Daisy had managed the day successfully with a room full of Philpott girls (all with different married names, but 'Philpott girls' none the less.)  
And old Mrs. Patmore had come to supervise, which had things stirred up in a rather entertaining way.

 

“I love her, but she makes those old dictators look like kittens,” Daisy said to Mr. Barrow as she hid in his office to catch her breath.  
They were sharing a fortifying cuppa, knowing the house would settle late that night. 

“Did she really bash the one girl on the head?” Thomas asked, half caught between disbelief and laughter.  
“Well, tweren't really a bashing,” Daisy said, considering. “They're family after all, and the group tends to be a bit hands on in the doing of things.”  
The young woman took a sip.  
“Having now seen the Philpotts in action with each other, makes me understand our early days here all the more."

“Those that they love most get the roughest treatment.”

 

“But on the head?” Barrow questioned.  
“More like across the cap,” Daisy reassured him. “And she wouldn't do it to any of your hired men. They aren't Philpotts.”  
Thomas blew a breath out through his lips.

With the Masons virtually adopting his nephew, the butler felt like the group was somehow “family in law.”  
But it still was an odd way of doing business for Downton, and he'd be glad when things were quiet again. 

 

Late on, the men started up a game of cards, but without Jimmy or Joe, Barrow found himself uninterested.  
And the jarring sound of some youngster playing the piano just made him feel more out of place still.  
Was this why Carson didn't stay up after hours in the servants hall?

 

Barrow made his way upstairs, satisfied with how the day went, but feeling a bit melancholy none the less.  
He was only at the middle of his life, but he still could feel old some days.  
And this was one of those.  
A book and bed was the best answer. They'd have an early start of things, seeing the party off.


	29. Chapter 29

(Note: Short, sad chapter. Skip if you don't want to be depressed. Seriously. Skip it.)  
-  
-  
-

 

Joe woke up crying.  
Before he was even awake, his body knew his sadness and sent the tears.  
Middle of the night sadness.  
Darkest moment sadness.

He dashed at his face with the heel of his hand and licked the salt from his lips.  
“Fool,” he muttered to himself. “Be a man, then.”

 

Yesterday's shoot had been so lovely.  
But after it was done, it was the loveliness that left him feeling low.  
  
In his dreams he wondered if this shoot was his last.

 

For months now Miller had a cloud in the back of his mind, having had a worrisome time in the spring at the doctor.  
In the x rays they'd taken to check him, they'd seen a growth—a small one. Which Hollingsworth had then removed completely, hopefully not to return.  
But they'd called it 'cancer,' and anything with that label frightened Joe near enough out of his wits. 

His mum had died from a cancer.  
And it hadn't been pretty.  
(As though death ever is, Joe reminded himself. Fool. What does the manner matter?)

 

Yes, he'd been 'lucky' to be injured by the poacher, for he certainly wouldn't have gone to the hospital without.  
And the doctor, in turn, wouldn't have caught the thing small.  
(Stitched up, it had healed better than the poacher's wound. Same bandage had covered both back when it was done, not even an extra scar.)  
But anything attached to the word 'cancer' was  
the absolute worst luck in his book.

 

So Joe woke up that morning crying, clawing his way out of bad dreams.  
(Hopefully without reason.  
Surely the doctors knew things.  
Surely he would be fine. )  
Somehow the loveliness of yesterday, enjoying each moment, had made his mind play tricks.

 

And Thomas?  
It would terrify him to know any of it, so Joe would only share if he must.  
A perpetual pessimist anyway, Miller thought. I've just about trained him out.

And there was no longer anything to worry about.  
(Believe it! Think it as though you believe it!)

 

The gamekeeper got up and looked out.  
The sun was rising on what promised to be another beautiful day.  
Joe rubbed both palms over his face, as though washing it with his hands.

Listen to the birds. Look at the sky.  
Everything would be fine.  
Now when he'd finally found the love of his life

\---

Rosamund Painswick went to her solicitor, set on making her wishes known.  
Her will had needed updating for years now, and she'd finally been angry enough to take on the task.

Bother with her brother and his family.  
He'd never cared for her, though they kept politely in touch, in and out of each other's homes. 

Bother with Mary and her son, the Heir.  
She was tired with the entire idea of only men inheriting.  
Why should her money go to the Crawley lineage, when mama and Robert looked down on her choice of husbands from the start.

 

Rosamund Painswick would make sure that her money went to the one family member who had always seemed to care what she thought—Edith.  
Rosamund was the one who'd been there at Marigold's birth, and even if she'd intended the child to be left behind and adopted, she was fond of her now. 

Plus, it would be hard for a girl without a noble family's actual blood to succeed in society. (She might have exaggerated somewhat to calm Edith on that.)  
Bertie wasn't wealthy any more, in spite of his lineage.  
No, thought Rosamund. With the Pelham name adopted AND her fortune, the girl would have a chance. 

So Rosamund put on her furs and went to the solicitor.  
She would make sure and have her say in the end.

\---

Henry had a bad day at his office.  
His friend, Leonard, would be leaving Morris for Austin, and, frankly, Talbot had the impression that the baron would prefer that he left, too.  
The man didn't believe in divorce, and, moreover, he didn't want to lose any investors over 'an employee's problems.'  
'An employee.' The old man used to call him 'son.'

So Henry went to his flat, feeling very much like his life was in tatters.  
He'd never thought Mary would do this, even if he'd deserved to have it done.


	30. Chapter 30

-  
-  
-  
The fact that George Crawley was sent down from Eton should have surprised no one.   
The staff had handled students from “broken” homes before, in spite of the rarity of the thing.   
However, the boys were not all so accepting.   
The Talbot family situation had given them a point on which to attack.

 

You see, George had just been part of a problem with his chum wherein one of the maids was involved.  
And Crawley had defended not the girl's honor but his friend's.   
The maid had been suspected of being a “plant,” a spy in place from another country in spite of her tender years.   
(How the others had scoffed at that.)

The maid was now gone.  
So was his friend.  
And when the news of his parent's divorce started circulating, the other boys used it to torment George, for they thought he should be gone, too. 

\---

“Heavens, what happened?” was all his mother asked when George arrived at the station with a split place over one brow.   
(They hadn't told her details then. Well, he certainly wouldn't.)  
“Just a disagreement,” George answered. “And I didn't fight in a gentlemanly manner, so back I come.”

“Was it worth it?” was all Branson asked.   
And when the young man said yes, Tom only replied “good.”

 

The drive home was quiet, but not as tense as he'd thought.  
He was home, and the old place looked grand to his lonesome eyes.  
Sybbie would be there, and the 'sibs.'  
There'd be time with Barrow and Donk.

George Crawley sighed and smiled.  
Looking at his mother, he said, “I'm sorry for the reason, but I'm so very glad to be home.”

And as he returned his eyes to the window, his mother reached out a hand to place on his arm.  
She was glad, too, no denying that.

\---

Branson gave a smile, and a sigh.

Earlier that day, Tom Branson had a parting at the same station where they'd just welcomed Georgie.  
And while it wasn't a farewell to his liking, he was satisfied he'd made the best choice in the end.

 

The Martins had decided to decamp to the States, and they were taking their daughter in law and grandson with them.   
“I don't see remaining here with Reggie and no family around in case of war,” Almeda said the week before, looking up at Tom from under lowered lashes.   
She wouldn't ask him to become her family. A lady never would.   
But she knew Branson could see the alternatives.

 

They'd enjoyed finding out about each other, exploring the newness of another person in lives gone too long stale.   
But it apparently wasn't enough to keep this farewell from happening.

So earlier that morning, Tom had stood with her at the station.  
“I've loved keeping company with you, Almeda,” he'd said, gently looking at her.   
(Not I love you. There was the difference.)  
“We've had a good time together, you and I. And I wish you didn't feel the need to go.”

 

And she looked at him standing there, a gentleman in spite of his birth.   
“I'll miss you, Tom. Miss you most of all in this place.”  
But I owe the Martins everything. I can't deny them their only grandson, nor risk his safety.”  
Hesitating only a moment, with a small kiss she'd entered the train. 

 

So if Georgie noticed that his uncle was a little more quiet than usual, there was reason, even if the boy didn't know what it was.   
Georgie came back home just in time for Downton.   
For they ALL needed his energy to lift them, and he only hoped that he was up to the task.

\---

Later that night, George held 'center stage' in the darkened nursery, dim light throwing frightening shadows across his face.  
“It was a dark night and the woodsman went through the forest quietly, hoping to reach the castle before the ravening hoards.”

“Ravening hoards? Really, Master George,” Barrow had tutted, holding Edward who'd shivered on his lap.

 

“Sh, Barrow. If that's the way brother's story goes, then we must hear it,” Violet demanded, annoyed. “Do go on, George.”  
Georgie smiled slightly before resuming his best story telling leer, and holding the lamp beneath his chin.

 

“Ahem. Yes, before the ravening hoards. The woodsman knew that he had to get word to the castle, to protect the beautiful princess there from harm.  
“He was unworthy of course OF her love, but he still could secretly love her. Pour his love out for her through his service to the crown.  
“So he made his rapid and hushed way along the path, a sliver of pale moon overhead his only light.”

 

“If they see him and shoot him, I'm going to be very angry,” interjected Sybbie, chewing her lip. “Don't harm anyone, Georgie.”  
(She was, of course, recasting the story with pictures of herself and a younger Barrow than was close by.)

 

“It was sorrowful how many men might go to their eternal GRAVES if he failed at his mission, the woodsmen thought. He must get there and lead them out the secret lane.”  
The storyteller gave a dramatic pause, raising an eyebrow at his cousin.

“His footsteps scuffed quietly along, never ceasing. Miles and miles he'd travelled.  
“At last he reached the inner wall. Gleaming overhead was one room's light, like a tiny star twinkling above.  
“The woodsman knocked at the gate, petrified that no one would hear to answer, but they did. He had made it. They would be warned and the princess would be safe.”

 

“Oh,” breathed out Edward lightly, then smiling.  
The young boy might not like stories with princesses, but he didn't want the girl to be unsafe. 

“But won't they have to chop their way through the hoards to safety?” Violet asked, quite sensibly. 

“No, they got there in time to sneak safely out with the woodsman to guide them,” Barrow interjected before Edward could tense again. 

“Because he knew all the paths and was very brave and the hero,” Sybbie added. 

“Righto, he was destitute but loyal to the crown, because she was a Beautiful princess, and any man would save a Beautiful princess,” Georgie teased. “Good thing she wasn't a Hideous princess or the woodsman might have not risked his neck.”

“Now, Master George,” Barrow warned, though his voice held a bit of a chuckle. 

“Princesses are never hideous,” protested Violet.   
And that meant another hour of discussion, delaying bed time in turn.   
Nanny would not be so amused.


	31. Chapter 31

-  
-  
-  
One foot before the other, life went on at last.  
And eventually, the staff at Downton found themselves back to their essential members, contented and at peace.

Not surprisingly, this meant their pleasurable habits came back into play.

Thus, occasionally of a weeknight, the men would steal down to the gamekeeper's cottage for a game of cards or two. 

 

Why even Bates came to the night out, with a sociability rarely on display.  
Truly, he'd been worn from these last few weeks--his son's escapade shaking the household, his lordship's adventures resting heavy on the valet's mind.  
(For Bates was even more aware of the earl's vulnerabilities than his family, and was therefore more protective to boot.)

 

“You aren't going to fleece us like the last time, John Bates,” Pipwick grumbled, glaring down at the cards he'd been dealt.  
“I vow you must have been a card sharp in your earlier years.”

“I've played a hand or two,” Bates said, smiling slightly. “But I'm not a professional.”

(The way he flipped through his cards gave some lie to that.)

 

“Pip's just used to playing with me and always winning,” smirked Samuelson as he put down their glasses with a thunk. 

Joe followed with the bottles of drink.  
“Well, he won't win tonight. I'm the winner tonight,” Miller said, distributing the first round.  
Then, sitting, he looked at his cards.  
“Well, maybe not,” he laughed. “Three.”  
(Jimmy gave him more cards with a bit of a huff.)

 

They settled and stretched and sighed in their chairs.  
It was good to rest at last.

 

Never one to like the attention of the group, Andy chewed his lip as he considered his hand.  
He was much more practiced now with playing cards, and could usually translate the concept of a servant's blank into a poker face.  
But Andy, being Andy, would then relax with his mates and forget to keep his face still.  
“Two?” he said with as much question as confidence. 

“Need me to check you, there, boy?” Pip joked.  
“Two,” Andy said (too) forcefully. They chuckled almost by reflex.

 

The fire popped in the grate and the room had a homey glow, still lit the old fashioned way.

“News on the wireless seems dull these days,” Joe said when the play came to him.  
He spoke with some of the local gift for understatement given Mussolini's latest move in Abyssinia.  
(“Wicked lunacy,” muttered Pip.)

 

“Pfft. That gab box,” derided Samuelson, who preferred the company of sun and trees to most of mankind.  
“Pictures are better,” Jimmy said to the old men. “If you two ever agree to come out, you'd like what we have on show.”

There was a gleeful look toward Jimmy as the others contemplated the thought of Old Pip and Sam lamming about in York.

 

“But you like the music on the wireless, don't you, Jimmy,” Joe said affably, smoothing through the teasing moment.

“S'alright for some,” the other answered. “But nothing beats being in a London club live for their show.”  
And Jimmy Kent grinned at his memories, though truly he was quite content  
having settled down near his friends in the north.

 

Another round of drinks and another hand of cards had them all relaxed, leaning a bit in their seats.  
“Lord Grantham has been saying how well things went at the shoot, Mr. Miller,” Bates said as a change of topic. “He was quite taken with the entire thing.”

Joe smiled. “It went well. The weather and the birds were with us. And the beaters came out happy.”

 

“Where there's muck, there's coin,” Pip commented, talking a gulp, and throwing caution to the wind with his bet.  
(The villagers appreciated any job, even the dirty ones, if it brought in cash money.  
And a day in the woods wasn't even that dirty.)  
“But I'd rather they hired a year of gardening than a day of shoot.”

 

These last few years had been sad for the old man as the outer reaches of his life work went to ruin for lack of care.  
“I won't be here forever to repair things, you know.”

Sam gave him a sharp look, and Joe tutted.  
Pip was getting morose when in his cups.  
“How many times have you told me, old man. Your mother was a Brown and the Browns outlive us all,” Miller said. 

 

“Are the follies intact?” Barrow asked, knowing the old man would be able to rumble along on that topic for a while.  
From his side, Miller gave him a conspirator's smile, quickly warming to more.  
And pleased with himself for pleasing Miller, Thomas looked sideways with a slight grin in reply.

 

Mr. Pipwick's lecture on architecture got them through to the next hand easily.

“You were hired by the last earl, weren't you?” Bates asked casually. “Money wasn't plentiful then.”  
“It hadn't been,” allowed Pip cautiously. “But I was brought in after the American bride's money, so I didn't see that part of things, though.”  
“I was hired by the current earl's mother, actually. Before her husband died, she replanted the gardens. But that was at the very end.”

 

Pipwick took a long pull of drink. “Just how old do you think I am?”  
And he looked over at Bates as though trying to weigh whether offense had been given.  
Jimmy laughed. “I'd like to know that myself, since you act like a tike, but talk like Methusalah.”

“It's part of his charm, the mystery,” joked Samuelson, who though younger was still 'old enough' himself.  
“I've tried to get it out of him for years.”  
And the slight tension passed.

 

“He was here when Mrs. Patmore came. She was quite sweet on him for awhile,” Andy said,  
staring at his cards and oblivious to various chokes and snorts of disbelief.

“A choice bit of calico, that woman,” Pip agreed as the others laughed, “but not exactly my type.”  
“And Elsie Hughes, too. A beauty. How are they these days?”

 

So talk turned to the women of the big house, past and present.  
With the men praising their virtues to the skies.  
(And of the ones through the years not virtuous--such chin music was passed over without comment, for the men were gentlemen enough to let those matters rest.)

 

“Where do you think Master George will go next term?” Miller asked as he poured more drink in their cups.  
“Maybe he can just have the tutor?” Barrow offered.  
Bates smiled at his hopeful tone. “His grandfather wouldn't like that. But beyond Eton....well, I'm not sure any of them thought beyond that one spot.”

 

And on they continued, betting and heckling, ignoring anything outside the confines of Downton.  
The headlines didn't much matter to this lot. 

Or at least not that they'd admit to ruin the game.  
They'd seen war, and they suspected war was coming, but they really couldn't stir up either enthusiasm or panic.  
Just fatalism for what was to come.

 

Better, then, to talk of women, boys, gardens.  
Better then to drink and enjoy the night.  
A comfortable night with friends who should never have gotten along but somehow perfectly fit.


	32. Chapter 32

(Note: this probably should have been left out in the edit. It was on the end of the last chapter, and I didn't post it, but now I did. It's a two minute read, so I'm being self-indulgent enough to put it up after all. No plot. Just characters.)

 

-  
-  
-  
They fell into bed, laughing.

John had left the game a bit earlier than the rest, and having not had a drink had an easy time of it, getting home.   
He made his way quickly in spite of the cane, knowing Anna would be waiting for him,   
having put the boys to bed.   
There was a light in the window, which made him smile. 

His milk and honey girl, waiting.   
Opening the door, she had walked toward him and he wrapped her up in his arms.   
She kissed him then, tilting her face up to smile in pleasure that he was home.   
And pulling him in, pulling at his clothing, they made their way into the bedroom.

And they fell into the bed, laughing.  
Shushing each other, but laughing in spite of it all.  
Just in joy of the nearness of each other's warm body in the darkness of the night. 

\---

They fell into bed laughing.  
Having finally got Andy off after coffee to keep him safe on the lane.   
Talking about their friends and making jokes of them all, themselves included.   
Thomas outdoing Joe somewhat with his usual mocking tones.

Leaving the dishes undone in the hurry to be together.  
They'd gone up the stairs while kissing so fervently that  
it was a danger to themselves.   
But a known danger, an orchestrated dance.

They fell into bed laughing.  
Glad to have some hours before the dawn to push the world away,  
Have time to enjoy and explore each other thoroughly,  
as though they hadn't already memorized every bit of it before.

\---

They fell into bed laughing.  
Daisy not used to this Andy, quite flushed and demanding and passionate.  
But still gentle withal.  
She tasted his breath and felt him shiver beside her, wanting.

They fell into bed laughing,   
And he said foolish, loving things--she was beautiful and perfect.  
Andy at his essence, just shyness removed.  
And she whispered her love back, surest of that love most of anything in the world.  
Her husband, really and truly beloved.

\---

They fell into bed laughing,  
Two ancient men, cantankerous with aching joints.   
Afraid they'd scared the 'youngsters' with their aging selves.  
But still quite alive for all that.   
And they fell into bed, laughing.  
Holding their secrets safe.


	33. Chapter 33

(Meanwhile, back to everyday plodding life. LOL)

 

-  
-  
-  
At the big house, the business of life went on apace.

“I'd really rather wait to go back to school, whichever one it is,” George Crawley said, hoping his voice sounded firm.  
It was difficult to be fourteen—a young adult, truly, but still having your decisions made by committee. 

 

It was peaceful in the dining room, Barrow and Andrew serving the main course, the aroma of Mrs. Parker's wonderful cooking mingling with the scent of flowers in their artful arrangements.  
(Sybbie had told him a wickedly funny story about their grandmother trying to teach her how to arrange the things. No artistic skill at all, apparently.)

 

George's mind skittered back to the present as Donk cleared his throat.  
“But my dear boy, you must have an adequate education to run this place, much less to take your position in the world.”

The other adults nodded, and Sybbie shot him a sympathetic look.  
Cutlery scraped on china ever so lightly.

 

“Maybe he could take tutoring with me. I've been doing more reading than he has at the school. Why, sports take so much time, I'm surprised they learn anything at all.”  
George grinned back at her in thanks.

 

“But the sports are a lesson, too,” Donk returned with a rather patronizing tone.  
“And making contacts that will help you later in your life.”  
(The old man wanted only what was best for George. And friends made at Eton, lessons learned in cricket, had served him well throughout his life.)

 

The slow silence held them as they momentarily chewed.  
“But surely he doesn't need to start right back in next term....half,” ventured Tom, who wanted the boy home, but realized the value of books.  
“Maybe he could wait until next year.”

 

There was a collective lightening, and Mary jumped at the compromise.  
(Frankly, she knew her father was right. She even knew Georgie should be placed somewhere in January.  
But it was such a short way off between autumn and winter.)  
“It would give us more time to evaluate our choices,” Mary said blandly, trying to hide what she deeply wanted and yet do what was right.

“There are a lot of schools to consider, Robert,” Cora added, soothingly.  
“Hmmm,” was all Donk replied in consideration, but Sybbie smiled widely at both George and his mother, knowing the tide had turned. 

 

“And how is your charity work going?” Cora asked, to change the subject.  
She had been pleasantly surprised when the soup kitchen seemed able to provide for itself as donations came in.  
“It's quite a challenge, sometimes, but it's a good project,” Sybbie said brightly. “People aren't having a happy time of it, and reminding them someone cares does more than just fill their stomachs.”

“That sounds like Isobel,” Georgie said, before ducking down into his meal.  
“Isobel is right,” Tom replied. “The Council does what it can to keep things running in town, but people helping out others is really what will see us through.”

 

As the talk seemed to be getting dangerously close to politics, Cora tried another topic.  
“And how is Dickie Merton these days? He didn't come to shoot.”  
“He said he couldn't for his arm, but he's doing quite well on the whole,” Robert reported, though he thought he'd already told her that--twice.  
(Cora nodded her head and smiled. He had told her, she just needed him to tell the rest.)

 

“We must have them both to dinner then. Imagine, riding out on a horse at his age,” Cora shook her head as though Lord Merton had committed a high crime.  
The younger folks chuckled.  
Dickie Merton was a 'card,' and they loved him. Why, his stories of India and Egypt made them both want to go exploring...once they'd gained a few more years, of course, and once the world was a little less topsy.

\---

Barrow went down the stairs to fetch the pudding, his lips slightly raised in a smile.  
Daisy, seeing him, stopped cold. “Good news?” she prodded.  
“They've stopped shipping off Master George on the next train and may wait clear until fall.”  
He picked up the tray and raised his eyebrow.  
“And who knows what the lad will have them talked into by then?”

 

Andy, right behind him, picked up the second tray.  
“With Miss Sybbie in the thick of it, too. We've a few interesting years coming up with our two, Daisy girl.”  
But when the men left, Daisy just smiled. 

She understood young adults far better than babies, thank heavens.  
Besides, this was good news for Mr. Barrow, and good news for the butler was good news to them all.

\---

Early, far too early the next morning, Sybbie and Mary walked out back to the stables.

The groom stood between them, looking quite pleased with himself.  
There weren't as many horses as in years past, not any assistants to help him in his work. (Lynch had six men, but now Taylor was left on his own.)  
Yet he'd kept things up, and proudly presented Lady Mary and Miss Sybil with their mounts.

 

“I don't know why I let you talk me into this. I have work to do,” Lady Mary laughed, looking younger just for shucking off the responsibilities.  
“Because it's fun, Aunt Mary.” 

The girl mounted up easily enough, having learned from the first to ride astride.  
Mary, who had taken to the new ways when they'd come into vogue, now found herself having moments when she thought back to earlier ways and times.  
(Barely a second's hesitation, but then she was firmly seated and in control again.)

 

“I'll take a slow pace, don't worry,” Sybbie said, catching the hesitation.  
“What worry?” Mary said smartly, denying it, as she kicked the horse into a gallop and took off for a real run.  
Behind her a startled Sybil gave an unladylike whoop and tried to catch up.

 

Mary Crawley knew every inch of this place, knew it in her bones as well as her mind.  
So she guided the horse as second nature into the upper paths.  
She didn't get to ride nearly as much as she used to, which was a pity, but she still did enough to keep her skills up.  
The jump over a stream would be up soon, and she intended to take it clean.

 

Finally, flushed with success, Mary reined in to let her niece catch up.  
“We should do this all the time, now that I know you can jump like that. I see I've missed out on the best teacher, just relying on Taylor growing up.”  
Sybbie was flushed and smiling, looking so much like her mother that Mary felt the years roll back.

 

Her sweet and kind little sister had been a harem scarem on the horses.  
One of several things they'd had in common in spite of their difference in age.

 

“There's too much business to take care of to ride as I'd like,” Mary admitted, looking into Sybbie's blooming face.  
But Henry flashed through her mind—always business over anything else—and Mary stopped short.  
“But we should make time,” she said, and with more of a drawl she continued, “Why your mother and I were quite the horsewomen, not your Aunt Edith, of course.”

And they rode along from there at a more sedate pace for a while, as Mary shared a few stories and pointers.  
Though, of course, they soon broke back into a run.

 

And when their noisy gallop up to the big house woke the old earl from a mid morning doze, he thought he'd gone back in time.  
Horus was Pharoah, and his girls had come home.  
He could see them careening by outside the window.  
Robert sighed happily and drifted back off to his nap.


	34. Chapter 34

-  
-  
-  
A cheerful voice called hello in the back hallway, and a familiar smiling face came round the corner of the servants hall doorway a moment after.  
“And are you all whiling away the hours pretending to work these days?” Mrs. Hughes asked Anna and Phyllis, whom she found sewing there.  
The women's exclamations of delight put to rest any worry Mrs. Hughes might have had that they'd be interrupting.  
“They” being Mr. Carson and a rather special surprise guest who had shown up on their doorstep that morning. 

“What's this?” Mr. Barrow said, coming in as the old butler made his slow way and finally entered.  
“We've important guests and no one thought to put it in the book for me to know?”

 

The pretense of irritation gave way to a smile as Mr. Carson grumbled and Mrs. Hughes patted him on the arm.  
“Come sit by the fire, you must be chilled,” Phyllis said practically, which led in turn to another grumbling comment from Carson, which sounded like 'foolishness' and 'magpie.'

This, of course, was directed at the two wing chairs that had been positioned by the heat for the women to use in their sewing. Two comfortable chairs and a good electric light.  
“They'll never miss them. The chairs were damaged and in the attic,” Barrow said by way of an explanation. “Really, Mr. Carson.”

 

“I've put up the coats,” came a new voice.  
“Alfred?” said Anna, turning from where she'd got the others to the seats.   
“Alfred? What are you doing here?”

“You mustn't let us interrupt,” Mrs. Hughes said firmly, “But when young Alfred stopped by to see Mr. Carson, we decided we needed to push in.  
“Just go on about things, and we'll visit as we can.”

 

Daisy, hearing noise, came in with a smile.   
“We'll make time for this, we will, no matter what,” and she patted Alfred on his arm as she went back out to get something to drink and eat.   
“Daisy wrote me how he was,” Alfred said in a low voice to Mr. Barrow. “I'm being moved to a different hotel and won't be back for at least a year, so she wrote me.”

And the two men looked over to Mr. Carson, who looked as sturdy and forbidding as ever, but who they knew was having more troubles each month.

 

“So you've missed us since we've gone?” Mrs. Hughes said in reply to some hurried account by Phyllis of the housekeeping.  
“Things just aren't the same,” Mrs. Moseley said sincerely.  
“We do try our best, but it will never be the same.”

Elsie Hughes was obviously gratified to hear it, as well as grateful for the tea and hospitality that followed. 

 

Sending Andy up, Mr. Bates was soon added to the crowd of well wishers.  
And, though they shouldn't ought to, they took a half hour or more, telling tales of the house and in generally catching up.   
Of course, it didn't take much to do so. Most of them had made their excuses to go by the Carson cottage now and then, bringing by any true news.

But each day brought its own small variance, which was the stuff on which they made their lives. 

 

“The Viscount Branksome is coming to dinner tonight,” Anna, dimpling, said to Mr. Carson.   
The old butler had always liked Evelyn Napier back in the early days of Lady Mary's debut.   
“He never is! And her not even unmarried,” countered Mrs. Hughes with amusement. 

“Lady Mary will be fine,” Mr. Carson managed and furrowed his eyebrows as though daring his wife to dispute it.  
“Of course she will,” Elsie said smoothly. “And we'll be glad to see her back happy.”

Anna leaned forward as though to get up.   
“I should run up and tell Lady Mary you're here, or we'll all be in the soup.”

 

“Wait a bit before we open the floodgates,” Mrs. Hughes replied. “You all need to hear Alfred's news.”

Daisy had come back in and was standing between her husband and the visitor.   
Given that she had once liked both men, it was odd to see them side to side in comparison.   
For two more different types physically you'd never find. 

 

But there was a seriousness about both, a stability.  
And Daisy, being herself, could still care about Alfred, really truly friends with the man, even though he'd left a scar on her heart.

 

“I've been keeping up with you all through Mrs. Patmore and Daisy,” Alfred began.   
“And getting tips from them both, too, which benefit the Ritz a great deal.”  
Daisy blushed and looked down when the others clapped lightly.

“They're sending me to the Ritz in New York. They've one there and in Boston which need a new face.”

 

“And they picked yours?” scoffed Barrow, more for practice than malice.

“Indeed they did, Mr. Barrow,” Alfred said seriously back.  
“No accounting for taste.”

 

“Now don't say it like that, Alfred. Tell them all,” Daisy encouraged, but finished herself. “They wanted him special, because he's a 'cool head under fire.' The owner himself said that.”  
And again, the others made approving noises that one of their own had been judged well.

 

“Whatever I do, the fact that I can keep calm in the face of things, is all owing to Mr. Carson. That's why I came to thank him before I go.”  
With this, Alfred turned a dull shade of red at the sentiment.  
And the old butler looked pleased but rather abashed. 

“We're all that, really,” Andy said, jumping in to save the awkward moment.  
“Mr. Moseley was talking the other night about a teacher's legacy being his students. Well, Mr. Carson's our teacher.”  
“Here, here,” Mrs. Moseley said to him. “Very well said, Andy.”

 

Carson garumphed rather noisily, and nodded toward the cups.  
“And we aren't doing him proud now, with cups going empty,” Barrow pointed out, reaching to make the pour.  
And the conversation turned back to the little things, for emotions were too much for a proper Englishman to handle, so baldly spoken like that for everyone to hear.

 

A while later, Anna did slip upstairs to tell Lady Mary, for she wasn't joking to say the woman would be put out not being first to know.   
Directly--not waiting to fuss with her appearance, not staying to finish her letter-- Mary flew for the stairs.   
She knew the old man rarely left their cottage at all, and that this was truly an occasion.

 

“You'll come up for tea with the family,” Mary started, sitting close to Carson and smiling brightly at her old friend.  
“That's kind, Lady Mary, but the stairs...” began Mrs. Hughes.   
“Won't be a problem if you come round the front door. Is that too much to walk? And how did you get here anyway? You'll certainly let one of us drive you back.”  
Lady Mary's words tripped one over the other as she tried to sort out the best arrangements. 

 

Shaking, Carson slowly reached over and patted Lady Mary's hand.  
She stopped talking and swallowed slightly, tearing up. “I do so want to have a good visit. It's like a holiday seeing you here.”

 

“We could fix up something down here, like we did when they came back from their honeymoon,” Barrow suggested lightly.   
(The others smiled and nodded. It was a pleasant memory.)  
While Barrow liked the idea of the old man finally having tea in the upstairs with the family, he didn't think it would make Carson comfortable.  
And Barrow knew that both he and Lady Mary were the same in wanting that over all.

“No bunting, though, Mr. Bates could barely manage decorations the first time. No artistry,” Anna said, smiling.   
“But I've mounds of nibbles to eat,” Daisy said encouragingly. “I've been testing recipes all morning, just for show. Besides, we've a chef from the Ritz in the house.”

 

And it was only then that Mary noticed the extremely tall auburn haired man, standing meekly in the corner of the room.  
She raised an eyebrow.   
“Alfred, my lady. I used to work here before going to the city.”  
(The puppy, thought Mary. The tall, awkward puppy, but he looks self confident now.)  
“Of course, Alfred, I remember,” she said. “We were all so proud of you for your accomplishments.

 

Mary tilted her head considering.   
“It might be best, my lady,” Anna smiled.   
“Yes, I'll go tell papa straight away. We've a party, then a dinner, why he'll feel like today's a regular social whirl.”  
And as they smiled back, she moved off to arrange things. 

 

“I think you've just upstaged the Viscount,” Elsie murmured to her husband as the younger staff moved about preparing for the invasion from upstairs.   
“Poor Mr. Napier. He should know she loves you best.”


	35. Chapter 35

(Note: The reason this was delayed for two days was that I dithered with killing off poor Mr. Carson, aged and infirm. But I backed away from it, soppy fool that I am, so we don't end with a dramatic highpoint, just a fade away slice of life. Sorry.)

-  
-  
-  
Carson's visit had given them the inspiration they needed.  
If in his affliction, the old man could show the strength to carry on, then all of them certainly could do so, too.  
And do it while maintaining “certain standards,” of course. 

So as the year drew to an end, the staff shifted into a higher gear, hoping to give the children the same feeling of holiday as in the past.

 

Roping and greenery filled the great hall.  
And when the tree was finally delivered and Barrow had the ornaments down, Sybbie and George led the younger two in debates about how to decorate that sounded remarkably similar to debates that happened a decade before.

Barrow stood nearby looking on, his eyes soft.  
(He knew they'd have to eventually let Master George out into the world for good, but it was at least enough to see him here on holidays, with the promise of decades of holidays to come.)

 

“I know what you did, of course,” Lady Mary said to the butler as she came to stand at his side.  
“And I'm thankful.”

“My lady?” A raised eyebrow and a blank innocence was all he gave her back.  
Mary smirked.  
“Papa tried to call Eton himself, you know, to have the miscreant who fought Georgie punished. Our family has roots at the school far superior to some parvenu.”

 

Barrow's lips turned up slightly before he again held himself to a servant's blank.  
“Master George was too good for Eton, if you don't mind me saying so.”

“Well I wouldn't say it in front of his lordship, but I must say I agree,” Mary drawled, eyes narrowing for a moment as she quickly suppressed her irritation for anyone who got in the way of her son.  
  
“And I should have known you'd have the matter already in hand. Well, done, Barrow.”  
And Lady Mary moved away. 

 

“What was that about?” Andy asked in a low tone.

“Sometimes those of us in service need to make sure some justice goes out to those of them on top,” Barrow smirked.  
“Little toffs need to learn that they can't buy their way out of everything, or they don't become gentlemen in the end.”

 

“What did you do?” chuckled Andy darkly.  
“Took care of things, slow but sure. That's all you need to know.”  
And Barrow moved over to lift Edward so that the boy could reach a higher limb,  
Master George nearby to tease his youngest sib.

He's better with them than I am, thought Andy. And I have two of my own.

\---

Yes, Thomas Barrow had always loved the children, who'd been the first to really give him a chance.  
But he'd come to have grown up friends, too, with whom he intended to “keep Christmas well.”

For the butler, now an old hand at gifts, had started early and shown an insistence on quality and detail that made him the bane of the local shopkeepers.  
(His list was long and generous, which might have made the recipients feel guilty.  
But instead he smoothed things over by explaining that he was years and years of Christmases in arrears.)

 

The ladies were much easier going, knitting furiously as always, feeling that store bought gifts were more for men to rely on. For them, handmade things showed love.  
And years of practice had made them experts at making items both practical and beautiful. 

(Barrow himself had in his possession as many socks, scarves, monogrammed handkerchiefs, and sundry other stuff as any man alive. Usually in some variety of blue.)

 

At Downton, “things change, but things remain the same,” became a well worn refrain that holiday.

The children got presents from their father, but from a distance.  
And Nanny had them make him gifts, which they boxed up in return.  
It was sad, but not overly so. (At least no punches were thrown.)  
They'd known so many business trips on the part of Henry, that this parting didn't seem too much the worse. 

 

The world news was by turns exceptionally gloomy, but no one paid it much mind.  
They alternated between a fatalistic belief that evil would happen and an optimistic belief that it would be overcome by good in the end.  
Hadn't Rose and Atticus come home safely?  
Hitler may be a thief and a madman, but how hard was it to take him seriously with that tiny Charlie Chaplin moustache. 

 

“There's been a lot happen. So why do I feel like nothing ever happens?” Daisy asked Mr. Barrow early Christmas morning when she joined him for a cuppa to start the day. 

They sat enjoying the soothing smells of the morning—cinnamon and yeast rising, things already in to bake—and the gentle ticking of the clocks which Barrow still kept (as though they, too, were living friends.)

 

“Joe getting hurt by the poacher? Anna's boy?” he prompted.  
“The Divorce? The Aldridges?”

“I know. I know,” she said with a grin, which she immediately tried to hide. “And if I didn't want to make you call me a fool, I'd worry about bad things coming in threes.”

She laughed outright as he rolled his eyes.  
(“Superstitious claptrap,” he muttered, but not too loud, not wanting to offend the woman who made his mornings smooth.)  
“But then we'd be missing two.”

 

“Master George sent down?” he offered.  
“A present, that.” Daisy giggled a bit, throwing a hand over her mouth as a reflex. “We get to enjoy him somewhat longer.”

 

“Maybe instead we'll say the tradition is GOOD things come in threes. And we'll make our lists that way for a change.”  
Thomas knew he was the one who'd said it, since he'd heard it come from his own mouth.

He reached for another ginger biscuit and sat there in crunching, having just said the most extraordinary thing of his life. (Could Thomas Barrow dare think life was 'good'?)

 

“Look for good things? You and I? Do you truly think we ever would?” Daisy said lightly.  
But then she smiled and took a sip of tea.  
“Happy Christmas, Thomas. And a happy day of it all day long for all of us.”

They continued to sip, content.


End file.
